A Foreign Language
by FarenMaddox
Summary: Harry and Draco must go abroad to search out the sinister designs behind a new drug Muggle teenagers are becoming addicted to. Mysteries, Muggles, a government agent, and Crash's first girlfriend. Sequel to Brothers & Sons. Still not slash!
1. Prologue: Renegade Magic

_A Note To My Previous Readers Before We Begin:_

_This story is somewhat different than my other stories. It is set in a completely different society, with a completely new cast of original characters. I hope you enjoy it, of course, but I thought I should let you know that there is a slightly different vibe in __A Foreign Language__. Also, I will probably only post updates every two or three days rather than every day, as I am currently devoting an unholy amount of my to my jobs. Jobs with an 's'. That said, welcome back! Please read the warning page, as usual, before you get started._

Warnings: (PLEASE read this!)

This story is a **sequel**. There are original characters that were introduced in _Save Me_ or in _Brothers and Sons_, and you will have a hard time figuring out who they are without reading those stories first.

This is an **alternate universe-type **story. While the previous two stories were slightly AU, this one goes into a foreign country and I invent an entire system of government and education for the magical United States, as well as a large number of original characters. There is a link to a list of original characters on my profile page, so that you can keep track of them. However, use this list carefully. It **contains spoilers** for the story.

This story talks about drugs and drug abuse, up to and including overdosing and hospitalization, as well as treatment for drug addiction. If any part of this subject is upsetting to you, do not read this story, as it is a very large portion of the plot.

This story contains references to suicide. If this subject upsets you, I would suggest simply being cautious when reading this story, but if it_ really_ upsets you, don't read it at all. No characters commit suicide during the course of the story, but there is discussion of a character who did.

This story contains a teenaged girl who talks about and attempts to have sexual relations with a male teacher at her school. If this subject upsets you, avoid this story, as it will factor into the plot.

One of the characters in this story is a disabled student who has been labeled with an offensive nickname. Within the story, this nickname is treated casually by the students, including the target, but I know some people will be offended by it. While in real life, I would smack anyone behaving that way, I also strive to make my stories as realistic as possible and so must face reality and write about how mean people are to each other sometimes.

This story will have some language. This doesn't bother most people, but if it offends you . . . just don't read anything Harry or Draco say, because they continue to swear no matter how much their wives threaten them with death, dismemberment, and sleeping on the sofa. And _definitely_ don't read anything Peter or Tuck say.

With all that said, I consider my warnings for _A Foreign Language_ complete. I will not be posting any extra warnings at the beginnings of chapters unless I feel they're warranted. If you didn't read this page, it's not because I didn't tell you to.

Once again, the link to the list of original characters (which contains spoilers) is located on my profile page.

Thanks for taking the time to read this, and thanks very much for reading my story! I hope you enjoy it!

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Prologue

Renegade Magic

He turned the music on his stereo up as loud as possible. For a brief, blissful few seconds, it covered the sounds of Vince and Marybeth fighting with each other. Then someone pounded on the door hard enough to make the one picture hung on his wall vibrate. That would be Vince. He reached out and slapped the volume control on the stereo down with a scowl he wouldn't have dared to have on his face if Vince could see him. It was a cheap-ass stereo, anyway. The bass went all fuzzy when you turned it up too loud.

The fighting resumed, with Marybeth now screaming at Vince not to take his problems out on the kid. Vince usually maintained at this point in their arguments that he deserved it for being an insufferable little punk, which was not what Vince signed up for when he agreed to take in a foster kid. Tonight, however, he returned to the closed door and apologized for overreacting in the loud, precise tones of someone who obviously doesn't really mean it.

He leaned back on the bed and allowed himself to grin, for just a moment. Vince and Marybeth were starting to get a little afraid of him. All the stories of kids shooting up their homes and schools were making an impression. He apparently displayed some of the classic symptoms of a kid who'd grab a gun and open fire on everyone who'd pissed him off, like the lack of friends and interest in normal things and respect for authority. For now, it was keeping Vince and Marybeth off his back to let them think that. But he would never shoot up that hellhole of a school.

Shooting them would be too easy.

He wanted those kids to suffer for the way they acted. Rich, preppy kids, always looking down on you, just because you didn't happen to live with the parents you'd been born to. Just because you liked to listen to some music the rest of them weren't listening to. Just because you . . . well, it was probably his fault, he admitted to himself. He was kind of an asshole most of the time. But you couldn't really blame a guy, could you? He'd spent fifteen years getting tossed around like a hot potato and had finally ended up with Vince and Marybeth Miller, the smarmiest couple in this smarmy town, who considered it their civic duty to take in a poor foster kid and make sure he got a good education.

He wanted to make them pay. And he would. Just as soon as he figured out how to control it. Control the thing that made foster parents freak out and ship him off to the next family. Control the thing that he had worked so hard to hide, the thing that made him introverted and on his guard so he could keep his secrets.

He didn't know what to call it, this thing he had. It could do different things, at different times. Kids had been making fun of him for years because of his freak accidents. He was unexplainable, and people didn't like unexplainable. They didn't talk about it. Didn't think about it. They just passed you on to the next victim. Vince and Marybeth hadn't discovered anything, which first of all made him think he might be getting better at controlling it, and also made him tolerate the stupid school that he'd normally try to get himself kicked out of. At least he was staying in one place. With the same people, even if they did argue all the time. At least it was a place to keep his stuff and come to every night. If he didn't know any better, he'd call it a home. And it was his as long as nobody knew what he was and what he could do.

Except his best friend, that is. Best friend, pretty much his only friend, and he knew about it. He'd shown him. And what a stupid move that had been. His best friend had stuck by him for the last year through everything, through those privileged little bastards mocking them and tormenting them. His friend had lost any standing he'd had in favour of hanging out with him, and they'd had some good times. They had been there for each other, and that wasn't something he took lightly. So he'd shown him, in a moment that left his mouth dry and his heart pounding.

And now his best friend had to pay, too. He'd thought the other boy was his friend, even dared to hope that he would think it was interesting or cool. Instead, he'd reacted with fear and anger. He'd left. He wasn't there for him anymore. And so he would pay, just like all the others would.

He wondered if there were others like him. Others who could do what he could do. There didn't seem to be any way to find out. If it worried them like it did him, if they wanted to hide it like he did, they'd never find each other. He had toyed with the idea of putting an advertisement in a big newspaper and seeing who'd respond, but who had that kind of money? Well, Vince and Marybeth did. But not him. He didn't _deserve_ it, at least not until he got an attitude adjustment. That was Vince's expert opinion, of course.

He looked at the picture on his wall. The one picture he kept. The only picture he had, of anything. It was his mother. He'd never known her. He didn't know how he'd gotten the picture. He'd just always seemed to have it, riding around in the shabby backpack that had gone with him everywhere until whoever he'd been living with when he was twelve—Ms. Sadie, wasn't it?—had thrown it away along with most of his clothes. The picture fascinated him. It wasn't that he had any romantic sentiments of finding his mother someday. He just wondered who she'd been. If she'd been like him.

His mother was standing in front of some sort of Institute. He could see the word "Institute" on the sign behind her. She was young, maybe fifteen or sixteen, his age. She was happy. She was also wearing some kind of cape or cloak or something. A piece of clothing he had never seen outside of this picture. It made him think. Was she like him? Was the Institute a place for people like them? Was she wearing a uniform?

Or maybe it was just wishful thinking. Maybe he was just a freak.

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He threw his backpack down beside a fallen log and dumped the load of sticks he'd been gathering. He quickly dug out a shallow fire pit and built the sticks up for a campfire. He untied his sleeping roll—a shabby homemade camping bed consisting of the lining he'd ripped out of a previously comfortable mattress and two blankets—from his backpack and laid it out on an area he swept free of debris with his feet. He pulled a bag of soy nuts and dried fruit—gag, but it was the only portable food in the house—out of the bag and munched on a handful of it. Then he glanced around.

There was really no point to glancing around, of course. He was out in the woods. He was alone. But he was paranoid about this stuff, understandably so. It didn't do to have witnesses, as his friend had made so clear a few days ago.

He concentrated everything he had on the pile of kindling in front of him, staring at it, hardly breathing, his hearing faded out and his body perfectly still. In his hand was a stick he'd held so often that the surface was smooth and polished.

"Flame," he whispered. Nothing happened. But he had learned to be patient. He focused all his concentration on moving the energy from his body through the straight stick he'd had as long as he'd had the picture, pointing it towards the kindling. "Come on, flame."

Then it happened. There was a spark and a little puff of smoke, and then a tongue of orange flame started creeping up the pile of kindling and growing outward. He waited only a moment, then set a few larger sticks on the pile. Then he looked over the darkening patch of woods at the pile of larger wood he'd left under a tarp to dry out a couple of weeks ago. He pointed the stick at it. The mysterious stick that was part of his secret.

"Come here," he said in a low, intense voice. "Log, come here."

Slowly, ever so slowly, the log on top of the stack lifted itself from the others and floated through the air toward him. Excited with this progress, his concentration slipped, and the log thunked to the ground. He swore, and redirected his attention to getting his (his what? His life source? His energy? His _magic_?) ability to move through the stick he pointed and reach into the log. To lift it from the ground and carry it toward him. Finally, it fell at his feet, and he added it to the fire.

This was why he'd come out here to camp for the weekend. To practice. He was better with changing people's minds, or something like it. He'd experimented with that, when he could get away with pointing a stick at people and not being seen. Usually under the bleachers. That was how he'd shown his friend what he could do. They'd been smoking under the bleachers, and the baseball coach had been yelling at someone. He had pointed his stick (his magic wand?) at the coach and said "Cheer up." And it had happened. He'd stopped yelling, started acting _too_ cheerful, almost like a happy drunk like the foster dad he'd had when he was nine. He hadn't spoken to his friend since.

He came out here to practice the physical stuff. The moving things around and starting fires. He didn't know what all he could do, what there _was_ to do. He just played around and experimented to see if anything would happen. He wondered if it was like working out. Like if he moved enough logs, he'd be able to move something larger, then something larger. He worked hard at it. It was the only thing he really worked hard at, much to the chagrin of schoolteachers and foster parents everywhere. This was the only thing he really wanted to learn.

He wanted a teacher. Someone who could show him what to do. Because he _couldn't_ be the only one. His mother had been like him. He knew it. But if there were others like him, they weren't walking up to him and telling him about it. Why did this have to be so hard? Why didn't they have some kind of _system_? America had a system for every damn thing, why didn't the government have a department for this or something? It pissed him off.

He allowed himself to get angry, and fed off it. Usually he could do better when he was upset. The anger fed through the stick and made his . . . his _magic_ stronger.

"I want some _real_ fruit," he snarled, pointing his stick at the bag of trail mix. Tiny shriveled bits of apple swelled and became big, juicy chunks. Surprised, he dropped the stick. He'd never done anything like that before.

"You want to take better care of that," an amused voice said behind him.

Startled, he fell off the log when he tried to turn around too quickly, and he joined his stick on the bed of decomposing pine needles. He grabbed hold of it and pointed it at the figure approaching him.

"Be afraid of me!" he shouted, trying to channel his emotion toward the person.

The woman—it was definitely a woman—held up her own stick and said something that sounded like a foreign language. There was a flash of light around her, and whatever it was that he'd directed at her seemed to bounce off a force field surrounding her. He stared. She could do it, too. She was like him.

_Mother_. The word flashed in his mind, but he dismissed it immediately while she continued to approach and the firelight fell on her face. She was much too young to be his mother, and she didn't look anything like the picture. She was pretty. Really pretty, actually. She was maybe thirty, good and curvy and with a spill of multi-hued brown hair that caught the firelight awfully attractively. God, she had the best tits he'd ever seen. Granted, most of the boobs he'd seen were attached to fifteen-year-olds, but _still_ . . .

She grinned when she saw the direction of his gaze. "Boys," she sighed. "You could be in mortal danger right now, and that's still all you can think about."

"Well, I _am_ sixteen," he pointed out, standing up and brushing pine needles off his clothes. She didn't seem to be about to kill him or anything.

"Making me technically old enough to be your mother."

"So I'll try to get some milk out of them," he said boldly, hardly believing the words were coming out of his mouth. Honestly, he'd finally met someone like him and _this_ was all he could say?

She smiled lazily, confidently. "Maybe later. Right now, we've got things to talk about."

"How did you do that?"

"What?"

"Block me."

She raised an eyebrow, both at the question and at his gesture for her to sit on his fallen log and share the fire.

"I might choose right now to point out that your powers are so unfocused that an infant could probably shield itself against you," she said dryly, "but I think what you're asking is what I did, not how."

He scowled, but she answered while he was still framing an appropriately insulting reply.

"It's called a Shield Charm. It's one of the first things you learn."

"Who learns?" he challenged. "Nobody taught me a thing."

"So I can see." And she suddenly looked a little sad, like she was sorry for him. "It happens that way more often than you'd think. I didn't start learning until I was your age, either."

"How'd you learn?"

"Somebody found me, and taught me. Just like I've found you."

He stared at her. Was she offering to teach him? Had the fulfillment of his craziest hope fallen into his lap this easily?

"You're speechless," she smirked, obviously enjoying her control over the situation. "Well?"

"You'd teach me? About . . . what it is I can do?"

"Magic, dear boy. You can do magic. What is your name, anyway?"

"Renegade," he smirked back. "At least, that's what you can call me."

She smiled a genuine smile, a smile of pleasure. "You're smart, boy. I like that. If that's what you want to be called, then I will, but you might sit down and think of a less ridiculous nickname for yourself. I'm not afraid, so I'll actually introduce myself. I'm Annie."

"Why would you be afraid?" he pointed out. "I can't do shit to you."

"Not yet, anyway."

"Why are you here? How did you know I was here?"

"I didn't," she shrugged. "I was on my way elsewhere, and I figured these woods would be out of sight so I could take a break. I saw your fire and came over to see what it was. I saw you moving those logs, and transfiguring those apples. Can I have some, by the way? I'm starving."

"Help yourself," he said automatically, handing over the Ziploc bag. "Doing what to the apples?"

Annie grinned at him. "Oh, you have a lot to learn."

"Apparently."

She looked at him with a face that abruptly went serious, deadly serious. "Do you want to learn, Renegade? Will you do everything I tell you without question and put all your effort into learning what I have to teach you?"

"I . . ."

"Your life as you know would be over, boy. Is that what you want?"

"Hell, yes," he said quickly. "My life sucks." She drew her brows down at that. "I mean, yes, Annie. I want to learn. I'll do anything."

She smiled again, and bit into a piece of apple. The juice ran down her chin and he stared at it, stared at the drop on her lucscious neck glistening in the firelight.

"Good. Go home and pack your things, boy. We'll leave tonight."

He thought about that. Thought about leaving the place he'd almost started to consider home, with its torturous responsibilities and the constant arguments. He gave her what he hoped was a rakish look that would not betray his virgin status.

"I might have to be gone for a few hours. What will you give me to convince me that you're not a dream?"

She caught the insinuation, and she laughed. It was a deep, throaty, seductive laugh, and she was definitely doing it on purpose, the bitch. She had no intentions of letting him do anything more than stare.

"Here," she said, and leaned forward. She placed a deep sucking kiss on the skin below his ear, making him gasp for breath and shudder. "Now I've marked you as my apprentice. Hurry up. I want to leave as soon as possible."

He stared at her with amazement and excitement.

"Back in a flash."

He ran.


	2. Chapter 1: Big Tim's Big Exit

Chapter One

Big Tim's Big Exit

Tim Farella loved his girlfriend Kendall. Really loved her. He knew they were teenagers, immature and all that, but it didn't matter. They'd grow up eventually, and they'd do it together. They'd met in their first class of their first day of high school, and they'd never been apart since then. First as friends, then as boyfriend and girlfriend, then and most recently as lovers, and now as engaged. He hadn't _really_ proposed to her, not yet, but there was an understanding between them. He was saving the romantic, down-on-one-knee thing for the day he could get a ring on a better budget that what he made working at the gas station after school.

His parents didn't like that, him working there. He was a Farella, and he was going to a fancy, year-round prep school in New England so he could go to a fancy university in New England and be a blue blood or something. It wasn't what Tim really wanted, never had been. He'd be perfectly happy with mediocrity. He wasn't that intelligent, not enough to succeed at Princeton. It was hard work that was getting him through high school, and it would be hard work that garnered him any success in his life, so he was determined to wipe any notions of superiority out of himself as soon as possible. Kendall didn't mind that she'd be marrying a textbook middle class guy, though. Life wasn't about success, it was about the two of them. That was all that mattered.

They didn't really like Kendall, either. Her parents wanted her to succeed, too, of course, but she wasn't ambitious enough. She didn't have the community service projects and school club memberships and impressive portfolio of feminist essays. She was just Kendall Steen. Good enough for Tim. He didn't want some rich bitch trying to go to law school. He just wanted her.

Grant pulled his car into the station and greeted Tim as he came to fill 'er up. "Hey, Big Tim," he called. "How's it going, man?"

They all called him that, at school. He was 6'4" and worked out on the expensive set of weights his dad had bought, set up in the garage, and never used. "Big Tim" Farella wasn't popular in the traditional sense, but everybody knew him and was comfortable with him. He wasn't top of his class. He wasn't a sports champ. He wasn't competition. He was just Big Tim.

Kendall had been more popular in junior high, before they met and started dating. She'd hung out with girls like Autumn Callavetti, the queen of Greenwood Prep. Apparently, giving up ambition in favour of real love was something of a crime. She wasn't ridiculed or hated. Mostly just a background character now.

"Thanks, man," Grant said when Tim was finished. Tim was careful not to do anything that even looked like it might scratch the paint on the Jag. His grandparents had bought it for him for his sixteenth birthday. Bluebloods. Just like the Farellas wanted Tim to be. Tim thought down the road to when he'd have grandkids with Kendall, thought about handing them the keys to a Jaguar. He snickered. Him and Kendall, they'd probably give the kid his first joint for his birthday. Recreational drug use, while popular among prep school students, was less acceptable once you left behind the immaturity of the teenagers years to begin your Ivy League education. Screw that.

Of course, right now, there was this new thing. You ingested it, but it wasn't a pill. It was liquid, this little vial you swallowed, but not on an empty stomach, god, no. It burned like fire if you weren't careful. Everybody was calling it Red-Hot. He and Kendall had tried it, and it was good shit. It picked you way up and made you feel like you had enough energy to last for days. It made you hot, though. Feverish, almost. Tim had never encountered anything like it, and he didn't know where it originally came from. Flip had given him a free sample, hoping he'd sleep with her for it. Flip wanted to sleep with pretty much everyone, so Tim figured he'd take the free sample and let her hit someone else up for favours. Kendall liked it.

When Tim went inside to clock out and go home to do his homework, he saw something weird. There was a kid his age in a baseball cap standing at the counter buying a bag of pretzels and a big bottle of Pepsi. A kid he knew immediately despite the bill of the ball cap pulled low over his face. But that was just . . . weird. It couldn't be him. How could it be?

Tim found himself following the boy when he went outside, holding his pretzels and his Pepsi in one hand and shoving the other in the pocket of a loose jacket. The gas station was on the edge of town, and the boy moved out toward the highway. Tim kept walking behind him, trying to stay a ways back to keep from being seen. He prayed to all the saints nobody from school drove by. Hard to keep a cover when a kid in a Lexus honked his horn and hollered out to Big Tim on his way past. He was lucky. Nobody did. He followed the kid all the way out of town and into the woods that bordered the highway on one side.

It couldn't really be him. It had to be just someone that looked like him. But if that was the case, why was this kid hiking out into the woods and trying to keep his face hidden? Something just seemed wrong here. Big Tim was no genius like Stace Law, but even he could see that.

Going from tree to tree like a ghost, trying to watch out for branches that might break under his weight, Tim trailed the boy through the woods. The boy didn't walk too far before coming to a small clearing. In the clearing was a small fire, and at the fire sat someone covered up by a big cloak of some kind, with a hood over their face. Well, this just got weirder and weirder.

"Was that really necessary?" the cloaked person asked.

"I needed a Pepsi. And I wanted to see whether or not Red-Hot was catching on. And relax, no one saw me." The boy chuckled. "Well, one person recognized me. Big Tim works at the gas station. In fact, he followed me out here."

"What?" the person under the hood hissed.

"He's standing right over there." The boy pointed.

Big Tim Farella's heart nearly stopped. He started backing away very slowly.

"You want me to take care of it?"

"I think I can handle it, but I wanted you here for backup. Just in case."

Tim moved backward faster, still facing the two and trying to keep trees between them. He knew he was going to step on something loud and give away his exact position.

"Hey, Big Tim!" the boy called out. It was him, after all. Impossible. "It's kind of pointless to run. I can see you."

Tim stopped then. He stood up to his full height. "Well? What do you want to do?"

"I'm going to have to kill you, Tim," he said, sounding regretful. "You're one of the few I wouldn't have wanted involved in this, but you had to follow me. I don't need anyone knowing about this."

Tim clenched his fists and felt the big muscles in his chest strain a little with tension. "Come and get me, then."

He chuckled again. "I'm not stupid, Tim." He held something out in front of him, and Tim flinched, thinking he had a gun. He didn't. He said something weird. Tim thought he saw green light. Then he didn't see anything.

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Jim watched his son with the sort of concern on his face that made teenagers go through the roof. They hated it when their parents got too involved in their private affairs. Jim should know. He'd been teaching them biology for close to twenty years, and he knew teenagers just as well as he knew his branch of science. His son was a sophomore this year and he'd been acting out the teenage drama for a few years, but only around his friends. Jim had been dreading the day when Adam would shed the trust and familiarity of his childhood, even at the house, to fully put on the mask one wore through one's school years. And now he'd finally done it.

He cast a look at Meghan—another constant through the last twenty years—and saw the same concern on her face. Adam was hiding things from them now. Not just retreating and carving out a private space in his life. Real, genuine dodging and lying. And Jim thought he knew what it was about.

He'd been talking to a couple of other teachers yesterday. He and Meghan had kept Adam home earlier in the week because he'd been running a fever, and a casual comment had evoked a lot of response in the faculty lounge. It seemed several kids had stayed out with fevers over the last few weeks, a day here and a day there. Normally they'd have chalked it up to a mild flu epidemic (God knew those were common enough at schools) but it was obviously not that. Not when the selfsame kids had been displaying unbelievable mood swings for the last month or two as well. Kids displaying mood swings was nothing to occasion comment most of the time, either, of course. But with the two things happening in conjunction, they'd all come to one conclusion.

Jim looked at Adam and felt a twisting of fear and anger in his gut. Drugs. Had to be. These kids were hooked on some new thing, and they were keeping it well hidden. Adam had always been a pretty easygoing kid, subject to the same fits of temper and depression that everyone else was, but generally well-balanced. Not lately. What Jim and Meghan had thought was hormones . . . They thought it was something else, now. Adam would act almost manically energetic sometimes, then abruptly start snarling at everyone. Now he was coming up with these feverish symptoms when he was in those energetic phases. Red-cheeked and hot to the touch and twitchy like he wanted to run ten miles, plus cheerful and exuberant about everything, even homework.

Adam's attempt to lie about what had happened at school today was revealing him to be extremely crabby, and he looked pale and exhausted. He was crashing.

"Adam, you guys have been friends since you were in grade school," Meghan pleaded. "Just tell us what happened, honey."

Adam shrugged irritably. "Nothing. Stacey's just being a dick lately."

"Language," Jim said firmly. He let Adam get away with that kind of thing at school, because he didn't want his son to accuse him of interfering or God forbid, cramping his style or something. But he wasn't about to allow Adam to talk like that in front of his mother.

"Sorry," Adam said in an aggrieved voice, as though apologizing were an immense hardship.

"Stacey is a good kid, from a good family, and he's always been polite and respectful from what I can see," Jim said. "We've had him over more than once. You guys have been good friends."

"Well, now we're not," Adam snapped. "It's none of your business, anyway, Dad. He wasn't _your_ friend."

"What I heard is that you guys got in a fight and started shouting at each other. That's not just Stacey acting differently for some reason." Jim's personal belief was that Stacey had argued with Adam about his drug use.

"Well, Jim, maybe Adam's right," Meghan objected. "You remember how Landon used to hang out with Stacey and Adam, too, and then Stacey sort of chased him away."

Adam looked at his mother as though stunned she knew anything about that. Apparently he didn't remember coming to her practically in tears a couple of years ago over that.

"That was about that Randall kid, though," Jim objected. "Neither of the boys liked seeing Landon spend time with Shawn. He was bad news." He wished he could just come out and accuse Adam of taking drugs, but he wasn't positive. He didn't want to upset Meghan unnecessarily or make Adam anymore closed off than he already was.

Adam nodded firmly. "He was. Randall was just . . . weird. Landon shouldn't have been hanging out with him."

Jim fixed Adam with a sharp look. "Shawn's not around anymore, though, is he? That's obviously not what you were fighting about."

"Jim!" Meghan gasped.

As much as Adam and pretty much everyone other than Landon Halsbeck had disliked Shawn Randall, it had still been hard on everyone when the boy had killed himself. The entire school had been in shock for awhile, and Landon, that poor kid, had never been the same. He was completely isolated now, and his foster parents said he rarely came home. Jim shouldn't bring it up, even after all this time, but he was getting tired of Adam's evasiveness.

"Look, Dad. Stace and I disagree about some things. All right? That's it. That's all I got. We fought, we don't want to hang out anymore. So let it go already."

"Fine," Jim said, throwing up his hands. "I'm sure you'll be cursed with the losarity disease for wanting to talk to your parents like you have been since you were old enough to speak in full sentences."

Adam huffed loudly and beat a hasty retreat to his bedroom. Jim frowned, his worry cutting deep lines around his mouth and eyes. Meghan looked just as worried. First of all, breaking ties with a popular kid like Stacey Law wasn't going to do Adam any favours, and he needed that friendship if he was going to get ahead in life. Jim didn't want Adam to be a schoolteacher. That's why he'd taken up teaching at Greenwood Preparatory Academy. Teacher's children got discounts, and a leg up in the world. If Adam really was using something, that wasn't going to help, either. God only knew what kind of messed up life Adam could get into if he kept that up.

Jim had brought home some pop quizzes to grade, and he spread them out on the kitchen table. Meghan started cleaning up the dinner dishes, looking upset and casting glances at him. Jim didn't want to talk right now, though. Maybe when they went to bed, when Adam was doing his homework. _If_ Adam was doing his homework, which he'd been neglecting lately. He rubbed his eyes with one hand, the other holding a green pen and resting on top of Eric Fritter's quiz. Why did parenting have to be so difficult? Shouldn't there be some kind of manual with all the warnings and disclaimers right on the front page?

Adam reentered the kitchen, and Meghan looked hopeful. Maybe he'd come to apologize or explain further. Jim tried not to hope for anything. He was already angry enough. Then he saw that Adam looked even more pale than he had when he'd gone into his room. He looked upset. Scared, even.

"Adam, what is it?" he asked quietly.

Meghan set down her scrubbing sponge to listen.

"That was Kendall."

"Kendall Steen?"

"Yeah. She wanted to know if I'd seen Big Tim lately."

"Why?"

"I guess Grant Brady saw him when he was working at the gas station today, and then no one's seen him since then."

"Where would he have gone?"

Adam shook his head. "Nobody knows. He forgot to clock out of work, and he just left. No one saw him go. Kendall says he isn't answering his phone and Grant was the last one to see him. That was hours ago."

"Adam," Jim began carefully, his throat feeling thick, "was Tim . . . involved in anything he shouldn't have been?"

Adam gave Jim a sharp look, then shook his head. "I don't know what you mean. I don't think so."

"What does Kendall say?"

"She's crying so much she can barely talk. She's been calling everybody looking for him. This is . . . really weird."

Adam slumped down in a chair across the table from Jim and stared at the floor. "Something must have happened to him. I just don't know what."

"Have his parents called the police?" Meghan asked in a high, fearful voice. Jim knew she was imagining the situation with Adam going missing, just like he was. "Is anyone out looking for him?"

"I don't know."

"My god. Jim, we have to call people. We have to get people looking." Jim got up and went to his wife, and felt her tremble. "Kids just don't go missing in Greenwood. This doesn't happen here."

"I'm sure there's a reasonable explanation, Meg. He's probably at the library studying or something. It'll turn out to be no problem. You'll see." Jim looked at Adam, for whom the reassurances didn't seem to be doing any good. "I'm sure Tim's fine." He took in Adam's worried expression, and released his wife to get his keys. "Come on, let's take a drive and look for him."

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_Reviews, please! You know how I love them!_


	3. Chapter 2: When You Need a Narc

Chapter Two

When You Need a Narc

When Chris got out of bed on Tuesday morning, she knew it was going to be a bad day. Normally, she had a very set routine. When her alarm went off, she hit the snooze button once, got up and showered. Then she grabbed her keys and her gun and stopped at the coffee shop on her street corner on the way to the station. She knew she'd save money by making coffee at home, but her one indulgence was a good Starbucks latté to start the day. She'd also heard it would be good for her health to eat breakfast, but she didn't do that, either. She did pack her lunch rather than buying it, and was not known for her donut consumption despite the stereotype. Maybe it was just that she was a detective, not a beat cop, but people seemed to respect her more than the officers they saw on patrol. Of course, when they saw her, it meant there was already a problem, not counting the coffee barista.

On Tuesday, Chris accidentally hit her snooze button twice, too groggy to remember hitting the first time. She'd stayed up late watching a political debate and she didn't get her eight hours of beauty rest. Not that one could really call it beauty rest, not without the "beauty" part. Chris was thirty-three years old, with a prominent gray streak in her straight brown hair, with narrow hips and breasts so small she wondered why she bothered with a bra, with lines cut deep around her mouth and a permanent groove between her eyebrows from her constant frowns. She had an ugly scar on her thigh where she'd been grazed by a bullet eight years ago, and an even uglier scar on her stomach from the stab wound that had made her leave Boston and move to a small town in upstate New York whose only defining feature was the high school it basically was built around. Greenwood was like a college town, only without the college. It functioned as the ground for Greenwood Preparatory Academy to stand on, and that was about it. It suited Chris perfectly. After coming that close to dying, she was ready for some peace and quiet. Being a detective in Greenwood meant investigating a lot of mysterious lights in the woods that turned out to be teenagers out after curfew.

But Tuesday changed that. Tuesday, Chris' cell phone rang while she was watching the morning news and feeling good that she wasn't working any of cases being reported on. Even after the shower, she was still a little sleepy, and was eating a bowl of Cheerios she thought had been in her cupboard ever since she'd moved here two years ago. She was hoping the food would wake her up. The stale taste was at least putting her in a bad enough mood to rouse her, she thought, trying to be optimistic. Then her phone rang, showing the station's number.

"Get down here."

"I'm on my way."

"No coffee. I need you."

Chris was in her boss's office, facing his scowl, in six minutes. "Sir, what is it?"

"The Farellas are goddamn bad parents, that's what."

"Sorry?"

"Not as sorry as you're about to be. We just got a phone call from Art and Penny Farella. Their son has been missing since last night, and they just now decided to let us know about it."

"Shi-i-it," Chris drawled. "They had to pencil it in, or what?"

Becker ignored Chris' jab. He knew she didn't much care for the parents of most of the kids in town, or the kids for that matter. The aura of entitlement hanging around such a huge portion of the population made the air in this town different. Well, maybe it was the lack of pollution as compared to Boston, but Chris considered that the result of the yuppie alternative-fuel vehicles around here, anyway. She took real pleasure in gunning the engine on her truck at intersections, especially when she was stopped beside people she recognized as parents of Greenwood Prep students. Those kids caused no end of petty trouble around here that the parents did absolutely jack about.

"Apparently, they thought he must be at a friend's house and forgot to tell them. I figure they honestly didn't notice he wasn't there until bedtime and decided it could wait until morning."

"Where was he last?"

"At work, as far as they know. Gas station down at the end of town."

Chris nodded. "He have friends or a girlfriend who saw him yesterday?"

"They said he's got a girlfriend, but they don't talk to her. They don't have her phone number."

Chris stared at Beckett in disbelief. She knew she'd have to talk to the Farellas eventually, but she automatically put them at the bottom of her list. It was things like this that made her think there should be a license required for parenting. That suicide last year, when she was still new in town, was what had clued her in to the way things worked in Greenwood, but she wasn't really used to it. The adults had one world, the kids had another, and the two might as well have been in separate dimensions for all the communication between them.

"I'll go down to the school," Chris sighed. "Figure out who his friends were and get them talking. You know his girlfriend's name?"

"The Farellas thought it was Kim."

"Ask someone at the school her name," Chris muttered, talking to her internal Post-It note pad. "What's the principal's name? Rosado, right?"

"Hank Rosado. I'll give him a call and tell him you're on the way over. I'm sure he already knows about this. Hell, he probably knew before the parents did."

"Well, time to get to work."

On the way to the school, Chris stopped at Starbucks.

"The usual, Chris?" Mike asked her. Mike managed the store, he and two kids who hadn't gone to college pretty much ran the place. Some of the Greenwood Prep kids worked here nights.

"Add another shot, will you, Mike?"

Mike winced at her. "That sounds bad."

"Yeah, it does," Chris sighed, and she rubbed the old wound on her stomach in a nervous habit. It sounded like the kind of trouble she hadn't had since Shawn Randall's suicide.

* * *

"Herbert Rosado, I don't think we've ever officially met."

"Christine Bernard, Mr. Rosado. But call me Chris."

They shook hands while the Hispanic man about her own age said, "In that case, call me Hank. Chief Beckett said you were coming."

Chris drained the last of her venti quad cinnamon latté and threw the cup in the empty trash can beside the school secretary's desk. The secretary wasn't in yet.

"I'll bet you've already heard about why I'm here," Chris guessed, stepping into the man's office. He shut the door.

"Tim Farella's missing. I heard. Kendall's been on the phone with everyone in town since last night."

"Kendall. That his girlfriend?"

Hank nodded his assent, and gestured for her to sit down. Chris was glad to sit. She hated being taller than men. It didn't happen really often, but Hank was pretty short. She was trying to size him up in the brief time she had. He'd just started working here after Shawn's suicide, when the parents pushed the school board to fire the one who they accused of making the school so dismal kids felt the need to kill themselves. He was something of a surprise in this town. Son of Mexican immigrants living in Los Angeles. Bilingual. Had a daughter whose mother had definitely not moved to town with them. He'd come far from his humble beginnings.

"God bless America, huh?" Hank said, instantly knowing what she was thinking. Well, he must have gotten that a lot in the last year.

"Sorry," Chris said with a shrug. "Anyway, Kendall."

"She's been hysterical."

"Thank god somebody has been."

"I guess his parents finally pulled their heads out of their asses long enough to start getting hysterical, too," Hank said with a plain look.

Chris stared at him for a second, then barked out a surprised laugh. "That was my impression."

"Look, most of the parents of these kids are decent enough people," Hank shrugged. "The Farellas just aren't my favourites. Tim was easy to get along with, never complained about them, but they're just . . . a little oblivious. They don't know Tim at all, as far as I can tell. Have no idea who his friends are, what he likes and dislikes, what his plans are in life. You know."

Chris told him her theory of the parallel universes the adults and the teenagers lived in. Hank smiled a little and nodded. Then his smile disappeared, and the groove in his forehead made itself as apparent as hers.

"It's going to make this difficult. The kids won't want to talk to you, or to me. The only one they ever really confide in is Jim Phillips, but he doesn't know anything about this disappearance, either."

"Phillips . . . I met him last year, with that Randall fiasco. He was the only one who seemed to know that kid at all. Good guy."

Hank nodded. "He's been great to have around. He's been teaching for twenty years, five at this school. He's gotten me off on the right foot."

Chris ran her fingers over her lips, as she did when she was in thought. "Maybe I should talk to him."

"Couldn't hurt. But I'll call Kendall down here so you can talk to her. I can give you a couple of names to get started with, too."

"I'd appreciate that. Listen, if there's anything you already know, I'd love to hear it. Showing these kids you know more than they think you do is pretty much the only way to get their attention."

Hank steepled his hands on the desk in front of him. "We think it's drugs."

"Shit," Chris said, not surprised. "It would be."

"Different, though. Something I haven't seen before, and believe me, I've seen plenty."

Hank had been the principal of a charter school in central Los Angeles. He'd probably seen plenty, indeed. Hank described the things Jim Phillips had talked to him about only two days ago. Giddy energy and surly crashes without any obvious adverse effects, except maybe the fevers that were causing poor attendance recently.

"Kids aren't talking about it at all?"

"Not a word. They like this stuff too much to give it up, whatever it is. We're a small town, you know that. A couple of kids at this school decide something, it's decided and that's that. No one will go against the prevailing opinion."

"The prevailing opinion . . ."

"Usually decided by Stace Law, Autumn Callavetti, their crowd. The beautiful people. Well, whatever you call the beautiful people in a town full of beautiful people."

"The Stepford wives," Chris snorted. "All right call Kendall, I'll start with her."

* * *

Three hours later, Chris had already spoken to anyone who might know anything, and they were all extremely tight-lipped, except Kendall. Kendall didn't admit to any drug activity, but it was obvious that if she'd thought it would help, she would have. If drugs were involved in Tim's disappearance, it was news to Kendall.

Chris felt bad for the girl. She was a cute kid, not beautiful, but pretty and sweet. And she loved Tim, that was obvious. She was sick with worry for him. She was exhausted from being up all night looking for him and worrying about him, and the circles under her eyes made even Chris, who'd worked in the Boston PD for eight years, wince.

Three hours, and Chris was fed up. These kids were seriously pissing her off. They were unhelpful. That was the word. Not unable to help, not hiding this one thing while divulging what they could. Plain old unregrettably unhelpful. She dropped into the chair in front of Hank's desk and scowled.

"These kids need an attitude adjustment."

"They don't like adults."

"Obviously."

"Well, think about it. Most of them have parents more worried about their own lives than their kids, dysfunctional mommies taking Valium to distract themselves from dysfunctional daddies and their affairs with their secretaries. Mommies and daddies who then have the gall to turn around and demand the kids use their lives to let them vicariously experience the sweetness of success that they screwed up for themselves with their greed."

Chris knew her face was green like she was going to vomit, because she thought she might, and when she felt like puking, people knew it.

"Adults have disappointed them. Why should you be any different?"

"So not a single narc among them."

"Not likely."

"No kid is disgruntled enough with the other students to want to tell their secrets? Not one?"

"There's probably a couple, too scared to stick their neck out. And Landon."

"Landon Halsbeck. The one with the foster family who specifically looked for a disadvantaged kid they could help out. In the exact same situation as his former best friend, now deceased."

"Yep, that one."

"Like hell he's gonna talk."

"Exactly."

"So what we need is an adult they're gonna trust."

Hank held up his hands. "I've been trying for a year. They like me, even respect me, but they don't trust me. You find me someone they'll trust, and I'll give 'em free reign in the place for as long as they need it."

"I'll just head over to Role Models 'R' Us, then," Chris sighed.

She and Hank looked at each other in defeat. Chris had a long day ahead of her.


	4. Chapter 3: Peter to the Rescue, As Usual

Chapter Three

Peter To the Rescue, As Usual

Stace slipped his fingers through Autumn's and squeezed lightly, just to let her know he was thinking about her at least as much as he was thinking about another inane history lesson. Their European History teacher was pregnant, and it wasn't going so well for her. Lots of morning sickness in the girls' room that for some reason the girls seemed to think the school needed daily updates on. It wasn't leaving her much time for lesson plans, unfortunately for Mrs. Collette and even more unfortunately for Stace. He was bored stiff. Mrs. Collette wasn't the most exciting of teachers on the best of days. Stace wanted to hear some real history, the gritty stuff you couldn't sum up in a textbook paragraph.

Of course, Stace was thinking about neither European History nor his girlfriend with any particular interest today. He was thinking about Kendall Steen. She was sitting in the corner looking very poorly, indeed. Big Tim had been missing for two days, which while worrisome was not affecting anyone else the way it was affecting Kendall. Not even Tim's parents were this much of a wreck—not that Stace expected them to be. He'd seen how it was with Tim and his folks. He didn't usually feel grateful that his own parents were sort of nosy, but when you saw a family like Tim's, you counted your blessings.

Stace absently ran a light hand over his hair to make sure it was still artfully disheveled. He could get away with it, because he was going places. The ones who actually carried around their palm pilots and tried to get stock tips from their dads were the ones who had to work for it, had to wear their hair all serious and tuck their shirts in. Stace really didn't. The intelligence and confidence just came naturally to him. It was actually quite a responsibility at times, but there were perks like Autumn.

Kendall had been a friend of Autumn's, a long time ago. Not so much anymore. They were still friendly, but not friends. Kendall could have been somebody's perk, but she'd chosen Tim instead. Stace could respect that, even if he couldn't help feeling a little pity. But now . . . the pity had been replaced by a deeper sympathy. She was taking Tim's disappearance (murder? Runaway? Nobody seemed to know) really hard, and you could tell.

Two days had taken a heavy toll on Kendall. Stace could just about guarantee she hadn't slept a minute since then. She had bags under her eyes that didn't fit her cute, delicate face. She hardly spoke to anyone. And the red had spread from her cheeks across her face and she was starting to look sunburnt. She sat at her desk shuffling her feet, tapping her pen, chewing her nails, twisting a lock of hair . . . Stace frowned and looked more closely. Kendall's nervous energy was unlike anything he'd been seeing lately; it was much more severe. She'd chewed all her fingernails down to the quick and a couple of her fingers were bleeding around the cuticle. Not just her feet, but her legs were jumping beneath the desk. She had knots in her hair like she'd been twisting it all the time. The redness of the feverish heat they all got when they were using had spread down her neck, too.

Stace let out a soft whuffing breath of surprise. Kendall was using hard. Way worse than he'd thought. He didn't know anything about the new drug the kids were all taking (not him, never) but he figured it, like anything else, would be dangerous in large amounts. Kendall looked like she'd had about all she could take. And then Stace looked again at the water bottle on Kendall's desk. It was one of the ones with the red mark on the label. Those bottles contained a full dose of Red-Hot, sold that way so people could carry a hit around without being found out. Kendall raised her water bottle and drained it, and Stace bit his lip. He was going to have to ask Autumn to talk to her. This wasn't good, the way she was doing this. She was going to hurt herself. Maybe she'd listen to Autumn, even if they weren't friends anymore.

Stace turned back to the front of the room for a minute, ignoring Autumn's curious whispered inquiries. He gave her his best I'll-tell-you-later look. But he couldn't help looking at Kendall one more time. And froze with his head turned toward her, his hands gripping the desk to keep himself quiet, to keep Mrs. Collette from noticing him. Kendall was covered with a sheen of sweat, her body held with such tension that she was trembling. Other students were starting to notice. The whispering started, and Stace felt nausea creep into his stomach like a bug creeping into a hiding place, ticklish and disgusting. He always reacted to fear with nausea.

Kendall started panting, and her body went impossibly more tense, quivering while she gasped and sweated.

"Mrs. Collette!" Nina squealed. "Mrs. Collette!"

Autumn was gripping Stace's hand tightly, standing up and taking a hesitant step toward the corner.

"Kendall!" she cried out.

Kendall's back arched and she fell out of the chair. Her eyes rolled back in her head, showing the whites, and bubbly saliva leaked onto her chin and cheeks. She shook on the floor, her hands making claws. Stace could feel the bile of puke rising in his throat. All that energy, all that Red-Hot energy, it needed some kind of release . . .

Kendall's body jumped like it had shot with electricity, Kendall cried out in pain, and then she slumped into unconsciousness, still panting and drooling. Stace threw up in the trash can.

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"Peter, it's me."

There was a pause, as he placed her voice. "Chris? It's been a long time."

"I know."

"You need something, don't you?"

Chris smiled. He knew her too well. "Boy, do I. I got something weird."

"Why do you always call me when you get something weird?"

"Because you're good at weird, Peter. In fact, you're the only guy good at this particular brand of weird that I know."

Chris was using her cell phone, not the station phone, to call Peter. Peter was not exactly an official consultant for any official police department. However, she'd been calling him for bizarro stuff for years. She'd met him in the hospital when she'd gotten shot in Boston, and she'd gotten suspicious when he wouldn't say what had happened to him. She'd tried to get information, but Peter was a mystery even to the doctors and nurses on their floor.

He'd never said what had landed him in the hospital that week. But he'd eventually told her that she honestly wouldn't want to know, and he was doing her a favour by not telling her. Told her that in a way that made her believe it. She stopped asking questions. They'd struck up the kind of friendship that meant you could be friends without asking too many questions. The kind of guy you could grab a beer with or go to a game with, but also the kind of guy you could call when shit like this happened, because he'd take care of it. Chris didn't know anything about Peter's world, but she knew it had people that could handle weird.

"Oh, that kind of weird," he sighed. "Alright, I'll be there soon."

"And someday you'll tell me exactly how it is that I can call you two states away and you're here in half an hour."

"Actually, we both know I'll never tell you exactly how it is I do that, and we both know you're a damn sight happier that way. I'll see you soon, Chris."

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Peter knocked on her front door twenty-three minutes later. Chris didn't say a word about the time elapsed, but she made a face when she saw how swollen and red his face was. He kept a neat, dark beard most of the time, but today it was just scruff on a face that was experiencing either a serious allergic reaction or had been smacked repeatedly.

"What happened to you?"

Peter just sighed. "You know better."

Chris rolled her eyes. "Fine, I won't ask. You need anything?"

"Nope, got it all sorted out. The swelling ought to be gone by morning."

"If you say so," she said doubtfully, wincing. Then she gestured him through the door and closed it. "Can your medication be mixed with alcohol?"

"What have you got?"

"Jack and Coke, of course. We're gonna need it, believe me."

"Why?" he asked warily, coming inside and flopping down in perfect comfort on her decidedly unstylish sofa. He'd parked his ass there plenty of times over the years.

"I've got a seventeen-year-old girl in a coma, that's why. We know, _know_, it's a drug overdose, but there's no drug. We found a vial in her locker, but it was empty, and the tests on the residue inside show plant matter. They show _nonexistent_ plant matter."

"Um, invisible plants?" Peter said skeptically, leaning back and placing his hands over his painful face with a little groan.

"Well, the liquid's dried up, not invisible, but that wasn't what I meant," Chris explained as she dropped ice cubes into the dark, fizzing drink and handed it to him. "I mean plants that are unidentifiable. Plants that do not exist according to current knowledge of botany and so on."

"So she's in a coma because of something the doctors can't explain. Meaning she maybe can't wake up without someone identifying these nonexistent plants."

Chris nodded, and sat down with her own glass. "Please, Peter."

Peter shrugged. "I'm no good at plants. Not even weird plants. And I'm definitely no good at weird comas."

Chris sighed in defeat, her heart squeezing with the memory of the pale, still body of Kendall Steen. "You were my backup plan. I've got nothing."

Peter took a healthy gulp of the drink. "That doesn't mean I don't know somebody who's good at weird plants."

Chris realized he'd been teasing. "Peter, you suck. Don't do that to me."

Peter didn't smile at his little victory. He looked into her eyes with concern. "This one's got you worried."

"They're kids," Chris said. "I . . . I thought they were just stupid teenagers until a couple of days ago, but now . . ." She drained her glass all at once. "I've been talking to them for two days." Chris explained the problem with trust, the way the kids wouldn't talk. How they so desperately needed someone the kids would feel more comfortable with. And how much she was coming to respect some of those kids. "They're people, some of them are good people. And they're all worried. Oh, right, that's what I've still got to tell you. A boy disappeared a couple of days ago, and we haven't been able to find a body. The girl that overdosed was his girlfriend."

Peter frowned deeply, and raked a hand through his perpetually unkempt dark hair—hair shot through with silver strands that hadn't been there when she'd last seen him, at her going-away party in Boston.

"What _have_ you turned up?"

"Other than that vial in her locker, not a thing. No evidence as to what Tim, the boy, was doing before he went missing. The absence of clues is what bothers me."

Peter was nodding. "And you thought about that case you had a few years ago where you couldn't find a body that you knew was dead."

"And I called you, and you found it exactly where we'd thought it should be. A previously invisible body."

"You want me to see if I can find the kid's body?"

Chris shrugged, knowing how miserable she looked and knowing that this sort of thing was just as rough on Peter as it was on her. "He's not the type to run away. And definitely not without telling his girlfriend."

"What about the girlfriend?"

"Kendall. The hospital's clueless. They need your people."

Peter smiled. "Who says I have people?"

"You do," she said, shoving his shoulder. He winced. "Peter . . ."

"I told you, I'll be fine in the morning. You know, I've told you a lot more than you should know already."

"Come on. You know I keep my mouth shut."

Peter gave her a skeptical look.

"About your secrets," she amended. "We are not talking about my tendency to say inappropriate things when I'm angry. Peter, do you know someone or don't you?"

Peter ran his hand through his hair again, thinking. Then he saw her fingers skimming over the scar on her belly, and he caught her hand. "Relax, Chris, I'm going to take care of you. I just need to think about how to do it."

Chris didn't have to let him grab her hand, but she did. She let his firm grip calm her down, ease her worries. Peter always came through for her on this sort of thing. He wasn't supposed to. Or maybe he was, but he wasn't supposed to let her know that he was there. He was supposed to work in the shadows, as far as she could tell based on his cagey behaviour in the past.

"I know a plant guy," Peter said finally. "Couple of them, actually. One in New Hampshire and one in Massachusetts."

"Do you think you can get one of them to help?"

"Maybe." He looked at her shrewdly. "Chris, you're really upset by this. You think it's something big. Not just a kid and his girlfriend."

"Yeah," she admitted. "My gut's aching. It's telling me something's going on."

Peter knew she got stomach cramps when her instincts were trying to tell her something. And Peter sighed, looking tired and nervous.

"Chris, I'm going to call this one in."

"What do you mean?"

"I generally work on my own, but this is something I could use some help with. And your boss is going to need to cooperate."

"With what, Peter?" she said, her voice darkening to severity. With him getting this serious, she deserved to ask a few questions.

"I want to call in some outside help. I've heard of a guy. A guy that worked a case involving weird comas, just wrapped up last year. He did it while working as a schoolteacher. He could be exactly what you're looking for."

"You've only heard of him? You don't know him?"

"Well, he's from England. I read about the case in the newspaper."

"I didn't," Chris said, her tone light, "which means there must be a secret newspaper for weird guys like you."

Peter sighed, and covered his cheeks with his hands again. "That guy really packed a whallop," he grunted. "Must have scrambled my brains."

"Peter, listen. If you can get this guy to help, get him. I'll work it out with Beckett."

Peter shrugged. "I'll try. Word has it he's all about helping people, so it's worth a shot."

"So he can help Kendall, and maybe he can get some information for me, right?"

Peter frowned. "Well, he's a cop, too. He can definitely do that. But hopefully he can get his ally at the school where he was working to help, because that's the plant guy we need."

"Wait," Chris said. "What?"

"Two guys. One does plants—among other things—and is a schoolteacher with a penchant for helping out in criminal investigations. One does investigation, and worked as a teacher for a while. They work together a lot. I'm going to call up the one who's sort of a cop, and ask him if he'd be willing to help."

"And your boss?"

Peter smiled painfully. "She'll get over it."

"Oooo, it's a she," Chris joked without energy.

"Marginally," he chuckled. "Anyway, I pretty much have free reign to do what I see fit, so she can't really complain if I exercise that. I'll probably get a bonus. I'm calling in an expert so this situation doesn't get out of hand."

Chris got up to fix them each another Jack and coke. "Thanks for coming, Peter. I knew you'd help."

By the time she got back to the sofa with the drinks, Peter was dozing, his mouth hanging slightly open, one arm slung over the back of the sofa. Chris set the drinks down, picked up Peter's legs, and stretched him out on the piece of furniture. She grabbed one of the myriad throw blankets her mother had knitted and foisted off on her, and laid it over Peter. She didn't know what he did for a living, exactly, but she knew he did it with dedication. He was always ready to come and help, come and make sure no one got hurt. He always called her good people. Chris figured Peter was good people, too.

She didn't know why she sat on the floor and watched him sleep. She'd given up on any ideas she might have entertained a long time ago. Peter was always comfortable with her, so comfortable that she didn't think she was really a woman to him, just his friend Chris. But she sat there and watched him sleep off the pain and weariness of whatever he'd been doing before he came over. She wished she could do more for him than offer a sofa once in a while. He'd never let her, though.

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_You think Draco will mind being "plant guy"? Yeah, me too. But I hope you all learn to like Peter, because he's going to be in the story quite a bit from now on._

_Just by the way, I won the saki bomber chug last night. Which may not be particularly impressive, because there were only three of us, but it's still not something I would recommend on a Sunday night when you have work on Monday morning. I am partially made of stainless steel, leaving me with the ability to not throw up AND wake up feeling fantastic, but many people do not have this ability. Don't try this at home, kids._ :D


	5. Chapter 4: A Saving People Thing

Chapter Four

A Saving People Thing

Harry Potter was doing paperwork at his desk and mentally bitching to Kingsley Shacklebolt for never warning him about how much paperwork came with this job. He'd been Head Auror for nearly a year, and he could swear he'd never left the desk since taking the position. Which was not strictly true, or possibly true at all. Harry was away from his desk whenever the paperwork was not threatening to bury him. He liked to do fieldwork, to be out there and helping people. Thank Merlin, things had been pretty quiet for the last year, no major plots to uncover, and Harry had time to beef up the Auror squad—gain more recruits, and give better training to the ones they had. Tonks had been invaluable there, fun enough to win them over but tough when it came to applying themselves.

It had been great, having Remus and Tonks here. They'd left England when things were still settling from the war, and it was only now that Harry was getting the chance to really connect to his father's last living friend—and learn a few things about being a man and a husband. Harry had never loved anything more than he loved his family, but things were better now, and so the love was somehow even stronger. He and Ginny hadn't been so happy since they were kids trying to ignore the future. They were always having Ginny's parents, or Remus and Tonks, or Draco and Vianne over for dinner, and Grimmauld Place was the cheeriest Harry had ever seen it.

Harry heard a noise in his fireplace and he scratched his quill across the paper in surprise. He hadn't been expecting a firecall. He quickly checked to be sure his robes were straight and his hair . . . well, his hair was as good as it ever would be. He'd always hoped it would lie down flat when he grew up, but here he was months away from twenty-eight years old and it was as unruly as ever. He did this because one never knew who could pop up in a fireplace expecting the Head Auror, not disheveled Harry Potter.

The face that appeared was completely unfamiliar to him. A man with dark hair, shaggy and just as unkempt as Harry's, a scruffy beard, and the kind of square face that brooked no nonsense and yet invited trust. Solid and dependable, Harry pegged him that way immediately. And a complete stranger. A stranger with what appeared to be a badly swollen face.

"Can I help you?"

"I'm looking for Harry Potter."

Harry blinked in surprise. "You're American."

"Yes. Are you Potter?"

"Yes. What can I do for you?"

"Let's make a deal. I'll tell you what I hope you can do for me, and you promise not to share this information with anyone just yet."

Harry stood up, went to the fire, and crossed his arms over his chest. "Or we could start with your name."

"Peter," the man said immediately. "Sorry. My name is Peter, and I'm calling you because I have a problem and I'd love to have your input."

Harry immediately relaxed, realizing that this guy was simply used to having to intimidate people—a cop or something—but still, he frowned. He could feel flattered that somebody that many miles away was coming to him for advice, but he wasn't about to make this easy. "Don't you have your own Aurors?"

"Yes. They're poorly trained and widely scattered, but we have them. We also, before you ask, have Head Aurors. Several of them. Scattered and easily corruptible, and I avoid them as often as possible."

"I see. And who are you, Peter?"

"A guy with the authority to do this if I choose to," Peter said with narrowed eyes. "Look, my friend, there is a Muggle girl in the hospital , and they're asking questions about what put her there. I've got a friend on the police force who knows me well enough to not ask me questions about how I solve these problems, and she's going to give me the freedom I need, but this is too big for me. I could ask for help from my colleagues here, or I could cut past the bullshit and go straight to someone I know to be an expert. I like as few hands stirring the cauldron as possible."

He'd had Harry at "Muggle girl," and Harry sank down to his knees and got comfortable.

"Tell me."

Peter explained the situation in Greenwood as best he could. There was a great deal he didn't know yet, but it was safe to say that a wizard was selling an as-yet unidentified potion to Muggle teenagers and passing it off as a normal drug. He didn't know who or why yet. He didn't know if Tim Farella was involved. He didn't know what the potion was, how to treat it, or how to stop the kids from buying it.

"I'm crap with Potions and worse with kids," Peter said frankly. "I heard the story about you and your friend last year. You helped all those kids that were in comas, and you did it while teaching school. You seem to be exactly what I'm looking for."

"Except that I'm rubbish with Potions myself," Harry sighed. "I'll come out for a day or two and take a look. You have a sample of the potion? I'll send it to Draco, he can identify it for us."

"It'd be easier if he could come, too."

"Maybe so, but he's got end-of-the-year exams to administer pretty soon, and he's busy. But I'll be there soon."

"How soon can you get here?"

"Other than this missing kid, what has got you so worried? What makes this urgent?" Harry's immediate suspicion was that there was something this Peter guy wasn't telling him.

"Nothing in particular," Peter admitted. "It's my friend, the cop. She's got a feeling."

"What kind of feeling?"

"The kind that says this is big. I trust her instincts. There's more to this than some wizard who doesn't know any better. I want to get this whole situation wrapped up before someone's plans can go any further."

Harry frowned over that, but accepted it. There wasn't really any way he could argue that someone's instincts were wrong, especially without being there and seeing the situation for himself. And worry was contagious.

"I'll be there. Can I ask . . . what happened to your face? Something I need to be worried about?"

Peter chuckled. "No. At least not unless you decide to relocate. I was tracking down a guy who liked to perform really creative Memory Charms on Muggles, and he also turned out to be pretty good with Stinging Hexes."

Harry winced, remembering a girl about six months ago who'd turned him into one big red welt when he found her to make her stop Levitating people's pets in the park. He could well imagine how Peter was feeling, and suddenly felt a sense of camaraderie with him. They seemed to have similar job descriptions.

"You think you could be here tomorrow?"

"Yeah, likely. I just need to go home . . ." He sighed. "And explain to my wife why I'm going to be out of the country for a couple of days."

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"You don't have to be so worried," Ginny said, curling up to Harry and resting her head on his shoulder. He slipped his arm around her automatically, reaching up with his other arm so he could brush back a lock of hair that had escaped from her long braid. "I get it."

"I hoped you would," he murmured, brushing his lips over her forehead. His glasses were resting on the nightstand, but he didn't need them to see his wife so close. Her face was not angry or upset in any way. His hand continued to skim her hair to reassure himself, though. He'd only gotten his wife back less than a year ago, and he did not take a moment for granted. "It will probably only be a few days. Once Draco can identify the Potion, I should be able to find the person collecting the ingredients for it pretty easily."

"It might take you a day or two, or maybe it'll take you weeks," Ginny said, but her voice still didn't sound upset. "But it's okay. It's what you do."

His lips brushed over the tip of her nose this time. "I hate being apart from you and the kids."

The kids had spent nearly six months away from him last year, when they'd gone back home with Ginny while Harry stayed at Hogwarts to work out the Nightmare Curse. Now they got panicky when he came home from work too late.

"We'll be fine," she assured him. "We all know we have to share you with the world."

"You're my family, you shouldn't have to."

"Harry, are you trying to get me to tell you not to go? There's a seventeen-year-old girl who needs your help."

"Yeah, I know. I just get worried that I'm neglecting you."

"So long as we can talk about it, I know that you aren't. This is what you do. This is a saving people thing."

When his lips brushed over her mouth, she stopped them there, tilting her head just the slightest bit to press them together tighter. Surprised but pleased, Harry deepened the kiss, and realized Ginny was sliding herself on top of him, running her hand up his arm and raising goosebumps. He pulled his mouth away to ask her about her sudden intensity, but she pressed her lips over his again to shut him up.

"I get it," she said in a low voice. "Doesn't mean I'm letting you go that easily."

With a grin, he made a sudden twisting movement, hooking her legs with his. She squealed as she was flipped and pinned to the bed by him.

"Is that right?"

Her face set with a delighted determination, her eyes sparkling, she made a sinuous, twisting movement of her own, freeing her legs and using them to push him over, flipping herself back on top of him again. The weekly pickup Quidditch games they'd started with some coworkers were keeping her plenty limber, Harry thought with amusement, letting himself be captured. After all, the kisses she was trailing down his neck were a strong incentive to admit defeat.

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"Daddy, don't go," Charley said, her arms and legs wrapped around him like some kind of octopus amputee. "Please?"

Harry really hated it when his four-year-old tried the cuteness trick on him. Because it always worked. He hesitated.

Ginny peeled the daughter plaster off her husband, which just gave Sirius access to do the same. "He has to, Brat," she said, using her own personal affectionate nickname for her daughter. "It's work stuff." Which was not strictly true, but close enough.

"For how long?" Crash said, pressing his face against Harry's chest. "A long time?"

"No," Harry said, patting the boy's back. "Not very long at all."

"You'll miss my birthday."

Crash's eighth birthday was in three weeks.

"No, of course not. I'll be back in maybe a week. You'll hardly even notice I'm gone. I'll be back even before Matt will," Harry promised, knowing that Matt's third year would be over only days before Crash's birthday, which gave him some leeway in case something did go wrong but would go far in assuring Sirius that Harry would be there.

Harry was squeezed on all sides by the three members of his family currently at home, and knew with an ache in his heart that he was incredibly lucky. An ache because it had been so close to not being this way. In a matter of weeks, Matt would be home, they would all be together for the summer, and there would be visits with the extended family, including the scattered Weasley clan, the Lupins, the Malfoys, maybe even the Simpsons. Life could have been something so different. Could have _not been_. Harry almost felt like he owed the world his help simply because he was lucky enough to exist when so many people no longer did.

Today, helping the world meant finding out who had sold a dangerous potion to Kendall Steen. Time to get to it.

"Goodbye, loves," he said, encompassing all three of them. "I'll see you soon." He looked at Ginny. "I'll call you tonight, if I can get a fire connected."

She nodded. "I'm sure this Peter guy can arrange it for you."

Harry kissed his wife's cheek, and his daughter's cheek, and dropped one final kiss in Sirius' unruly hair.

"I already can't wait to be back home," he smiled, then he Apparated to the International Floo Network Station.

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Peter picked Harry up at the connection station. Harry recognized him immediately, despite his face having returned to normal. Without the swelling and redness, Harry could see the rawboned, weathered look of the thousands of immigrant farmers whom Peter could claim to descend from. It was that appearance coupled with the assurance of his movements that gave the impression of such capability and trustworthiness.

"I'd recognize you anywhere," Peter said. "You're pretty famous, even over here."

Harry shook his hand, and frowned. "I'm not entirely sure that's a good thing. Aren't we pretty sure there's at least one wizard involved in this mess?"

Peter gestured him to follow him through the crowded station. "Yeah, I've been thinking about that. While they might not recognize you, should you be seen, they'd definitely know your name. We'll keep your presence quiet and hope we wrap this up really quickly. If not, I'll have to set you up with a false name."

"You can do that? You, personally?"

"Well, I can have someone else do it," Peter said, sounding unconcerned, but Harry stopped dead.

"Who _are_ you?"

"All sorts of people," Peter answered, sounding grim. "Be glad you're seeing my real face and hearing part of my real name. Most people don't."

Harry crossed his arms.

"Bond, James Bond," Peter murmured, and it sounded like he was repeating a very old joke to himself. Harry recognized the name, but wasn't sure he was remembering the connotations right. "I'm something of a secret agent. I have a license to do pretty much whatever I want."

"How did you get that?" Harry asked politely, following him again though with more caution.

"By proving my patriotism," Peter said simply. "You have something of the sort, don't you?"

Harry shrugged. "I suppose I do. Did you kill a Dark Lord?"

"No, and I'm definitely not mentioned in prophecy. But I have been in the thick of things a few times, and the government knows they can trust me to work for the good of our world. They don't ask me for reports too often."

"Do they know I'm here?"

"Not yet," Peter said cheerfully.

"Uh . . . won't they be upset when they find out?"

"Maybe, but they know better than to hassle me."

Before Harry could ask what would happen if they were to hassle their secret agent, Peter stopped, nearly making Harry run into him.

"Finally, a clear spot."

Harry realized they had stopped next to a statue of a wizard whose name Harry didn't recognize—no surprise there—and were not currently being jostled with every step they took.

"Here," Peter said, holding out a can of soda. "Portkey. It'll take us to an alley behind the hospital where Kendall was taken."

"Little risky, isn't it?"

"No, not especially. There's a Squib who works there who promised to keep the alley clear today, and get us in to see her."

A quick hook when Harry touched the soda can, and he and Peter cracked into existence next to a dumpster. Harry had no real desire to know what kind of trash might be in a dumpster from a hospital, so he breathed shallowly and followed Peter around to the front entrance. Peter led him upstairs with the air of a man who knew where he was going and what he was doing—exactly the sort of confidence that made people think twice about confronting someone they found suspicious. Peter could be a dangerous man, Harry thought. He hoped the government was right to trust him so completely.

Two women stood in the room to which Peter led Harry, stood in front of a closed curtain behind which Harry supposed Kendall was laying. One of them was a hospital employee, wearing scrubs and a nervous expression on her plump little face, framed by short strawberry blond hair. The other was wearing jeans and a polo shirt, but her erect carriage and observant expression screamed cop. She seemed young, not much older than Harry, but going prematurely gray, just like Peter was.

"Peter, you're back," she said in a welcoming tone. Her eyes fell on Harry, and she assessed him quickly. "You must be the expert on weird comas."

"Yes, I'm—"

Peter held him back from shaking the woman's hand and spoke before he could introduce himself.

"No names."

"Peter, don't be ridiculous," the woman said with a scowl.

"I'm keeping you as far away from my world as I can. You have no idea how much trouble you would get into." Peter stepped closer to her, and his voice dropped lower. "I know you. There's so much you couldn't leave alone, and I couldn't keep you safe from all of it."

The woman looked at Peter for a moment as if she were seeing something she'd never seen before. Harry caught the look on Peter's face, without meaning to, and felt like he should turn away. This was something Peter should have been able to say without an audience. And judging by this woman's face, this was the closest Peter had ever come to telling her how he felt about her. Harry knew then that Peter didn't do his job merely because he was a patriot. He fought, and fought hard, to make the world a safe place for this woman. Harry could empathize.

The other woman, the woman who worked here, she was staring at Harry instead of at the other two. Harry had the uncomfortable suspicion that she knew who he was. He smiled at her briefly, hoping she wouldn't try to ask him if it was true that he'd really done X, Y, or Z. He was just here to help the girl. He approached the curtain and carefully pushed it back, waiting for an objection from the plump Squib that didn't come. He saw the girl in the bed, and sucked in a deep, calming breath.

Kendall was a cute girl. Not beautiful, hardly even pretty, but someone had loved her so much that his disappearance had driven her to this. She had blond hair that hung limply around her silent face, a face made gaunt by her sudden period of deprivation. Harry's mind immediately flashed to the twisted, hollowed-out faces of five children caught in nightmares, and he choked. It had been a year, and they were still dealing with the fallout from that tragedy. A third-year who trusted no one but his own brother and the boy who shared their dormitory, a fifth-year who still sometimes disrupted his classes with screaming fits, and another boy who never spoke at all. Harry knew this wasn't like that. He knew Kendall wasn't locked in horrific visions. But he still blinked back tears. Why did people have to do this to each other? Why couldn't wizards use their magic to improve things, to make the world better? Why this?

"Do you have a—" he turned around and saw the Squib holding a small package to him— "sample." He took the package. "Thank you."

"That's the small portion of the residue from the vial that we had left after running our tests, and I made sure to include a printout of the results. I don't know much about Po—"

"_Ahem_," Peter said in an annoyed tone, cutting a meaningful look at the other woman, his friend the cop.

"About this stuff," the woman amended. "So I didn't know if you would care about our tests. I just thought . . . I wanted to help." She looked at Kendall. "I want to help her."

Harry tucked the package under his arm and looked at Peter. "Where do you send post? I need to get this to my brother."

"I didn't know you had a brother," the Squib blurted out.

The Muggle woman gave the Squib a sharp look, which she then turned on Harry. Her eyes narrowed. For some strange reason, she started stroking her belly, low on the right side.

"Peter. Who is this guy?"

"Just trust me," Peter said to her. He turned to Harry. "Come on, let's get that shipped over." He nodded at the strawberry blond. "Thanks again." As they walked out into the hall, Peter frowned. "I didn't know you had a brother, either."

Harry shrugged. "He adopted me."

Peter looked bemused. "Are you talking about Malfoy?"

"Uh huh," Harry said without emotion. Merlin, did he get tired of these questions.

But Peter shrugged. "That's your thing. I just want this potion identified."

Harry smiled. He was liking Peter more all the time.


	6. Chapter 5: Teachers and Spies

Chapter Five

Teachers and Spies

Draco sat back with an explosive sigh, disgusted. He rested his hands on the table and stared at the sample as if it would suddenly mutate under threat of his glare. It didn't, of course. He'd turned off the lantern a while ago to work by candlelight because the brightness was starting to give him a headache, and now he looked at the candle with surprise. It had burned down a lot lower than he'd thought. He must have been in here for hours. He instantly felt remorseful. He'd left Vianne alone all that time.

He got up to search out his wife, and despite his tiredness, a bounce entered his slightly off-centre step. He and Vianne had gotten married at New Year's, in celebration of the way they'd first gotten to know each other. Five months later, and he was still dizzy with happiness whenever he stopped long enough to think about it. He came home after teaching every day to a beautiful woman who loved him, and that was more happiness than he'd ever hoped to have for himself. Of course, between the end of the term and assisting on Harry's new case in America, Draco had been working late into the evening and not leaving himself nearly as much time for his wife as he wanted.

He found her coming up the hallway to meet him, and felt a joyful smile spread over his face.

"I was just coming to see if you were coming to bed at all tonight," she said, her face just as pleased as his.

He caught her in his arms and tilted his face to give her a kiss. "Do you think I'm crazy enough not to, when I have you waiting for me there?"

Vianne smiled and returned the kiss. "Did you get anywhere?"

His smile drooped. "No. I'm going to call Harry before I go to bed. He's not going to like it."

"I'm sorry," she said softly. "I know how much you wanted to help."

Draco shrugged. "There isn't much I can do. I need more." He shook his head, and smiled again. "But no more of that. I promised not to bring work home with me anymore than I have to." With input from Dorcas Thumbley, and from Vianne, he'd worked out a way to extend his Monitoring spell for his students to reach him all the way at the Manor—but they all knew he'd kill them if he had to come back to the school to deal with them, so they remained well-behaved in the evening. There was the occasional essay to grade, but he was very careful to leave himself time to be a husband. His marriage was new, and fragile, and he was still self-conscious about being five years younger than his wife with a decidedly more colourful past. He treated his wife as though she were the most important and beautiful creature in the world—which wasn't difficult, since she was. But he would give Vianne no cause to regret marrying him.

They walked toward the drawing room, which was connected to the Floo network and the firecall system. Draco eyed the décor on the way with distaste.

"We have really got to redecorate this place."

"I know," Vianne sighed. "Soon. We have all summer, remember?"

Draco placed a hand on her waist as they walked. "Are things at work okay? I don't want you to wear yourself out."

"No, they're fine. We'll have the summer designs out next week, and then things will slow down quite a bit, and I'll have time to work on the house."

Vianne's designs for the Muggle boutique were mystifying to Draco, but she professed to be just as confused by Potions. While she was a witch, she'd been privately educated and she'd remained too close to her family to fully join the wizarding world. Ran, and now Draco, were really her only links to it. Draco had lived as a Muggle for close to five years, but women's fashions were never going to make sense to him. They were each okay with their partner having a separate piece of their lives, so long as they had this world together at home. They'd been planning to redo the house and get rid of all the old family things, to make this their own place. They'd just been waiting for school to end and things at the boutique to become a little less demanding.

Draco had told Vianne when they got engaged that she didn't need to work, if she didn't want to. Hell, with what he'd learned from his father about investing, he probably didn't strictly need to work either. Vianne wasn't too keen on the idea of sitting around the house all day, though. Draco had no idea what his mother had done with herself when she'd been lady of the Manor, so he had no suggestions. If working made her happy, then Draco was all for it. Vianne's happiness was his top priority.

"What have you been doing this evening, anyway?" Draco asked, holding her hand as she sat down on the settee in the drawing room.

"I was talking to Ginny, earlier. She's getting lonely."

"Already? Harry's only been gone for two days."

Vianne arched an eyebrow at him. "I'll just leave for two days, then, so we can judge it properly."

Draco squawked out his protest in a deliberately awkward way, knowing it was a joke, and lunged forward like he was going to hold her down. She let out a little shriek as he captured her wrists, and giggled. He nuzzled her neck.

"No," he said firmly. "Now that I've got you, you're not going anywhere."

She laughed and squirmed. "I give up," she said, and nuzzled him back. "I don't want to go anywhere."

Perched carefully over her to avoid crushing her, Draco kissed her. "Good."

"Will you let me up?"

"Not yet."

"This is very undignified."

"Frankly, my dear, I don't give a damn."

"I shouldn't have made you watch that movie."

"We were bonding with your parents. Now hold still, I'm trying to seduce you."

"Seduce me?" She sniffed with affected pretentiousness. "I am a respectable matron, you know."

Draco groaned. "You had to say that." He let her up.

"I knew that would get you off of me," she said with a grin.

He was startled for only a moment, then he laughed and threw himself onto her fully. He held her down and nuzzled her neck again, adding in a bit of rib tickling that made her gasp and squeal and try to squirm away.

"Draco! Stop! It was a joke, I swear! Please! Oh! I can't breathe!"

He stopped, and gazed down on her steadily. "I love you."

She gave him an assured smile. "I know. I love you, too."

"Even though you're a respectable matron?"

"I have a thing for younger men," she purred, lowering her eyelids and trying to look like a seductress, then gave it up and grinned. "Not that you really count. Half the time I think you're older than me. You've seen so much in your life."

"Which is pretty impressive, when you take into account that I saw it all through one eye." His voice was huskier than normal, and he ran his hand up her shoulder and over her neck to touch his face. "Which is why I have to look at you so often, you know. I've got to make up for not seeing you with two."

Vianne had relaxed underneath him, not fighting since he had stopped tickling her. He felt her hands skim over his chest, and she was gazing back at him with most of the humour gone and replaced with something else. Then she abruptly used her hands to push him up.

"Go on, call Harry."

He gave her a frustrated look.

"And hurry, would you?" she added with a sultry smile.

He jumped to his feet. "Your wish is my command."

She got up more slowly, and straightened his shirt for him, still smiling. "We'll see about that," she murmured. "I'll be in our room."

Draco turned to the fireplace and made the call, eager to have it over with. The news he had for Harry, however, dampened his spirits for a moment. It wasn't particularly good news.

"Well?" asked Harry when Draco's greeting made him turn from whatever he was reading to see the flame-wreathed head. Draco cast a curious glance around to see if the mysterious Peter was there, but Harry appeared to be alone.

"I can't do it, Harry. I'm sorry. I need a bigger sample. The one you sent just isn't enough to work with."

Harry looked frustrated. "I was afraid of that. Well, I know you did your best."

"Is there any way you can get a bigger sample for me?"

"Short of finding a kid who will hand me their supply? No."

"Well, then you've got to find a kid," Draco said. "Aren't there any likely suspects?"

"I don't know. I've been staying away from the school, staying out of sight altogether. I was waiting to hear from you before I made any moves."

Draco sighed. "Sorry I don't have better news. What are you going to do?"

"I'll have to find a false identity to work under, so I can start investigating. I need to talk to the students."

"A false identity, huh?" Draco said with amusement. "Let me know if you need any help with it. What are you going to use for a name?"

"I was thinking about borrowing yours."

"Mine?"

"I mean your false one. Drew Stevens. Why not?"

Draco frowned. "The point is to have a name a wizard wouldn't recognize, I take it? Because you know there's a wizard around?"

"Yes."

"Well, Drew Stevens was in the newspaper several times. Might not be a good one."

Harry smiled. "I could try Drew Edwards."

"And why exactly is it that you're stealing my name at all, much less my wife's?"

Harry shrugged. "I'm unimaginative. And lazy. It's the first thing that popped into my head."

"Well, then, by all means," Draco said dryly. "I'd hate to make you do anything so difficult as picking any one of the millions of random names in the universe."

"I could go by Alphonse."

"Now, really . . ."

"Or Roderick, I've always liked that name."

"Whatever, Harry. Just take Drew Edwards. Please. Before you start making me sick."

Harry winked at him. "Thanks. Now go spend time with your wife."

Draco smiled slowly. "You have no idea how great that sounds, when other people say it like that. My wife."

"I've got an inkling," Harry said. "Anyway, thanks. I'll call you as soon as I have something for you to look at."

"All right."

Draco pulled his head back out of the fire and got to his feet with care. Bloody leg, he complained to himself as he limped off. It always went stiff when he knelt down. The pain was gone in an instant when he got to his bedroom, though. Vianne's presence was better than the strongest painkiller he'd ever had the misfortune to take.

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Harry shook Herbert Rosado's hand and sat down. The cop had told Hank that she was going to bring in a couple of experts on the side. One of them was going to apply as a substitute teacher at Greenwood, and Hank would just have to make sure that one of his teachers took some vacation time next week. Hank had asked to meet him first.

So here Harry was, wondering how he would get this man to agree to the plan. It would be hard to talk around the fact that he was not officially approved by the police without Hank catching on. But Peter had promised him a superbly crafted false identity from his contacts in the government, so Harry really didn't even need to worry. He had the paperwork to present for hiring, and Peter would take care of the details. Hank didn't really need to know in what capacity Harry served the police. He would believe he was hiring a Muggle named Drew Edwards (not that he would know the difference between Muggle and otherwise, but Harry would give him no cause for suspicion).

Harry was unprepared for Hank. Hank was barely five and a half feet tall, very fit, and had the look that Harry had come to associate with people who had seen things they'd rather not. Something was written in the faint lines around the eyes and mouth—lines that shouldn't exist on someone so young, lines that Harry had. And within Hank's eyes, Harry read something profound, a spark of decency that was incorruptible. And he insisted on being called Hank.

Hank steepled his fingers on his desk and looked at Harry directly. "I think we both know that this problem might take more than a week to solve. I have a teacher who's coming up on maternity leave in a few weeks, and I'm going to have her take it early. That will leave the entire summer open. You might not need to stay that long, and I certainly hope you don't, but I'd rather have options than not have them."

"All right," Harry said calmly, privately thinking he would be buggered if he was going to stay here any longer than a week or two more. "What class?"

"European History. I hope that works for you."

"I can probably keep my head above water, but I'd appreciate it if the current prof—teacher—could leave me some notes."

Hank nodded. "I'll take care of it. What else do you need?"

"I'm already set up with a place to stay and a communication system," Harry murmured carefully, thinking aloud. "Oh, right. This is a year-round school, obviously, but what's the schedule like?"

"Six weeks on, two weeks off. Four at Christmas, but you won't need to worry about that. We just started the time off when Kendall went into the hospital, so you'll take up the job next week."

"Okay," Harry said, still calm. He would probably worry over this a great deal later, when he was alone, but he wanted the principal to have confidence in him. A lack of confidence led to a lot of questions with no answers, and the last thing Harry wanted was to complicate this with having someone trying to blow his cover.

They talked for a minute more, shook hands again, and Harry left to meet up with Peter. Peter was supposed to have gotten his hands on some contact lenses, based on the paperwork Harry had Ginny send over from his last visit to the optometrist. Ginny was great with paperwork, or Harry wouldn't have known he _had_ a prescription, much less what it was. He was disgruntled about the contact lenses. He didn't wear them for a reason. He was going to have to stick his _finger_ into his _eye_.

Peter appeared from nowhere, like always, and hailed him, holding up some small boxes with a triumphant look. Harry suppressed a shudder and tried to smile. Disguises. Ugh. He was supposed to be dying his hair brown, too. Ginny would have a fit. She liked his hair. But black hair and specs were far too recognizable.

"I will wear these on one condition," Harry said, taking the boxes.

"You have a condition now? You _want_ to be found out?"

"I will wear them," Harry continued doggedly, "after you actually introduce me to your friend."

Peter stared at him with a flat look.

"I am going to be working with her, every day, for a couple of weeks. I need to call her something."

"Fine," Peter said tersely. "Come on, she's waiting for us."

"She is?"

He suddenly looked amused, and Harry realized Peter was exasperated with her, not with him. "She said she wanted to actually meet you, too."


	7. Chapter 6: Going Undercover

Chapter Six

Going Under(cover)

Harry sighed and ran his hands through his—brown—hair. It was still messy, unfortunately, but so far no signs of anyone recognizing him, like an inordinate amount of staring, or people running up shouting "oh my god, it's Harry Potter!" He also rubbed his hands over his eyes, which itched. The contacts didn't hurt or anything. They just itched. Like having an eyelash stuck in your eye. All the time. Merlin, he hated contact lenses.

Not that the allegedly clever disguise was getting him anywhere. It was keeping him stuck right here at this desk, grading papers. Was there never an end to the damn paperwork? Normally, he wouldn't be this frustrated with becoming a teacher again, for however brief a time. He was frustrated because his so-called investigation was producing precisely nothing and he had no idea how long he would be here.

He went through the things he _had_ learned this week in his mind. He had learned to avoid a girl named Flip. He had learned that these kids were far from normal, even when comparing British to American teenagers. He had learned that Stacey Law played club soccer and would be voted most likely to succeed when he graduated, which was still over a year away. He had learned that what passed for European History was hilarious, especially since they were approaching the witch-burning craze in their curriculum. He had learned that a British accent could get you anything if you knew how to use it—which he really didn't. He had learned that Edward Cavanaugh was excellent at reading lips, after the funny looks the kid gave him when he was swearing things like "Merlin's balls" under his breath. He had learned that when a kid showed up to class looking flushed and energetic, that was a kid on this mysterious drug that didn't show up on drug tests. He had learned that following them didn't help and neither did trying to sweat it out of them. He had learned . . .

"Nothing," he growled. "I've got absolutely nothing, and I can't find any evidence of magical plants being brought into the area." He scowled at the half-graded stack of short essays. "My life sucks," he informed them with due seriousness. "And I miss my wife. A lot."

He buckled down and graded the rest of the essays as quickly as possible. Let the kids say what they would to their parents, who would throw a fit at any teacher being less than completely committed to educating their children. Hank could deal with it. Harry had better things to do.

When he got back to the one-room house Peter had rented for him and connected to the Floo Network, he called home, hoping someone would still be awake. Luckily, Ginny was there, curled up in a chair and reading a book.

"Harry!" she exclaimed happily. "How are you, babe?" Then she saw his look and her face fell. "You're staying longer, aren't you?" she asked, setting her book aside.

"I am."

She got down on her knees to be closer to his image. "We miss you."

"I miss you, too. That's why I want you to come join me."

"What? Really?"

"Why not? I need to be with you guys. I can't stay away for who knows how long. Come over here, Sunshine. You and the kids. I'll ask Peter to find a bigger house for us to stay in. Please?"

"Of course we'll be there," Ginny said, looking pleased. "Wow, when's the last time we went on vacation?"

"Um. Never. But I won't be on vacation."

"Right. But it'll be fun for the kids to see someplace new. Have you already arranged things with Peter?"

"No, not yet. I wanted to check with you first."

"Work can do without me," Ginny declared grandly. "We're coming."

"Great. Now I've got to call Draco."

"Hunh?"

"I need him to come over, too. I can't spot anything, but maybe he will, he's more familiar with plants and maybe he'll realize something weird is growing in the area. Besides, if I know him, he'll be here two hours and have the kids piling their supply at his feet."

"Harry, he and Vianne haven't been married very long. I think they were looking forward to this summer as a chance to connect."

"Vianne can come, too."

Ginny gave him a look that made him quail, but he didn't back down completely. He really needed Draco to be here with him. He always did better when he had someone to bounce ideas off of, and Draco honestly could get the students to say things they would never tell Harry. He called them next, knowing they always stayed up late because Draco usually didn't get back from Hogwarts until eight or nine.

Draco and Vianne were curled up in front of their fireplace when Harry's head popped up in it, spitting with sparks because of the long distance. They both jumped, and they both immediately looked apprehensive.

"Do I really bring bad news that often?" Harry quipped, knowing with an inward wince that they weren't likely to find this call a real joy, either.

"Not bad news so much as more stress," Draco said plainly, though he smiled. The smile probably had more to do with having his wife in his arms than with his sarcasm, Harry thought. He didn't really get what was so incredible about Vianne, but then he had Ginny to compare her to. If she made Draco this happy, he wasn't about to object. "Well, spit it out, Harry. Did you get a good sample for me?"

Harry shook his head. "No. I need you to come out here."

"What?"

"I could use some help. Here. At the school."

Harry explained his reasoning, and watched Vianne's face falling. Merlin, he was such an ass. It couldn't be helped, but it didn't stop him from feeling like a real creep. Vianne was wilting because she could tell how much Harry needed Draco's help, and she knew Draco wouldn't refuse.

"Final exams are this week," Draco said slowly. He looked at Vianne, sighed deeply, and kissed her hair. "We can be out there next week. Let's get this one wrapped up quickly, please?"

"I'm counting on you for that. But I'll let you guys talk it over. Goodnight."

"Goodnight," Draco said for both of them, his eyes on Vianne.

Oops. Harry thought he might have just put his friend in the doghouse.

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Vianne played some sort of hand-clapping game that she'd taught Charlotte with a distracted look. Ginny finished extracted the chewing gum from Crash's hair, but forced him to hold still when he tried to dart off.

"Wait a second," she said sternly, and used her wand to regrow the section of hair she'd had to cut out. She was trying to keep it short, but Sirius had become fascinated with the state of his older brother's hair and was now trying to be like him. The couple of times she'd tried to trim it, he'd come home from school with the whole length back. Ginny kind of wanted to kill Matt over that. He was taking advantage of being away from home, and the just-turned-fourteen-year-old had hair so alarmingly neglected that he could probably put it in a ponytail if he wanted to. She was planning to tie him to a chair this summer and cut it.

Finally, she turned to Vianne to see her face painted with a slightly bitter smile while she entertained Charley.

"Is Draco still being stupid about having a baby?" Ginny guessed in a quiet voice.

Vianne's eyes welled with tears. "I want him to have kids. He would be a good father, but he won't take the chance. He puts me off and puts me off when I try to talk about it. I'm not getting any younger, Ginny."

Ginny had heard all this before, and she had only the same comfort she had offered before. "Give him a little bit of time. He's never been married before, and he needs to get used to that before he can think about being a father. I'd bet that after you celebrate your first anniversary, he'll be a lot more open to discussing it."

"I think he will, too," Vianne said. "The real problem is that he doesn't believe I'll stay with him. He keeps waiting for me to come to my senses. After being married for a year, it will hopefully become easier to convince him that I'm not leaving. I don't know," she sighed. "It's just hard. He avoids the conversation, and now he's going to New York . . ."

"What, aren't you coming?" Ginny asked in surprise, taking Charley from her and sending her with a push in the direction her brother had gone. This was news to her. She'd assumed they would all go together. She'd been counting on having Vianne, whom she was getting closer to all the time, to keep her from being bored and lonely with just the kids for company while the guys were working.

"I can't. I have to get the house done."

"You mean that redecorating project you and Draco have been talking about for almost a year?"

"That's the one. We haven't even started yet, and we were counting on having the time for it this summer. We won't be able to do it once autumn comes around again. I'll be designing and he'll be back at school. It has to get done this summer, so I have to stay here to do it."

"Have you two talked about this?"

Vianne nodded. "He's not happy. He wants me to come with him. But neither of can stand being in the house the way it is any longer. We couldn't wait another year, we'd both go crazy."

"I know, I've been there," Ginny said with a dramatic shudder. "His grandfather had style, didn't he?"

"If you like having an aura of arrogance and avarice hanging around you all the time," Vianne answered. "Draco hates it, more than he lets on. I'm not thrilled with it, but at least I don't have a pile of awful memories associated with it."

"So, you're going to be alone all summer?" Ginny asked with worry. She didn't think either of the newlyweds would take it well.

"No, Ran wants to stay, too."

"Oh?"

"He hasn't even officially moved in to the house yet, he's been at school since we came back from our honeymoon. He wants to get settled in and know what home looks like before he's back at school again. Besides, can you blame him? He's a fifteen-year-old wizard. He doesn't want to spend the summer stuck without friends or any magic whatsoever."

Ginny grimaced. "Does Matt know about this plan?"

Vianne smiled her first genuine smile all day. "Ran already asked if Matt can stay at the Manor. I told him he should know better than to ask without finding out if he had permission from you yet."

Ginny sighed. "Well, it does make sense. I'd rather not have Matt hanging around bored to tears all summer. He'll probably try to get involved in his father's investigation and practically get himself killed. Again."

"He's welcome to stay with Ran and me."

"I'll talk it over with Harry first, but thank you. I get the feeling he's going to be hopping all over the country this summer, staying with Basil and visiting the Forsythe kids . . ."

"Matt's been a really great friend to those kids, you know. Ran says he can't be around them without thinking about what happened, but apparently Matt is wonderful to them."

"He goes with the twins to visit Faith at her aunt and uncle's house, sometimes," Ginny said, feeling a deep sadness. "He was there when Faith tried to kill the baby."

Vianne wrung her hands together. "I'd nearly managed to forget about that."

Faith had professed her undying devotion to her child and to raising it with pureblood pride, right up to the day of her delivery. Then she'd tried to smother the newborn girl in its cradle. The baby had been given to a Muggle couple who had been told that if the baby developed any unusual skills it was nothing to worry about and they'd be contacted in about ten years. They didn't want that child to know her parents or the circumstances of her birth. They were hoping to bring her to Hogwarts believing herself to be a Muggleborn when she turned eleven. Few in the wizarding world knew Faith had even been pregnant, much less where the baby had gone, so hopefully it would work.

"Your Matt is a lovely boy," Vianne said, laying her hand over Ginny's as they experienced that moment of grief together. "I don't know how you managed to raise a boy with that much confidence in his own feelings. Ran isn't likely to win any prizes for emotional sensitivity at school."

"Don't ask me," Ginny shrugged. "Anyway, Ran is extremely emotionally mature. He's just not as open about it. Matt used to be shy, but he's always been willing to open himself up to the people who approach him. Ran isn't like that."

Vianne looked sad. "His father did that to him. He doesn't trust people, he never did after his father left. He has a great deal of compassion and strength, but he won't share it with you until you prove yourself to him." She smiled again. "That's how I knew Draco was special. Ran couldn't stop talking about him. I knew anyone who could get so close to Ran had to be amazing."

"The story of how you two met has always given me that impression," Ginny agreed. Her original feelings for Draco Malfoy had been so completely destroyed that she hardly even remembered the arguments she and Harry had once had about him. "There he is, dragging himself through a snowbank when he can barely stand up because Letty is _his_ responsibility, dammit."

"This summer is going to be so hard," Vianne whispered. "I know it might only be a few weeks, but I don't want to be apart from him. It's just . . . there's so much to do." She straightened her shoulders a bit. "We'll get through it. I don't know why I've been such an emotional mess lately."

"Welcome to marriage," Ginny said dryly. "Speaking of which, we both have husbands who are probably eager to hear about the plans we're supposedly putting together for the summer. Let's talk about bringing Matt and Ran over to stay for a week with us at some point."

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"I'll be back, I swear on Merlin's name," Draco said for the umpteenth time. Minerva (he'd only been able to bring himself to call her that a month ago) was standing just inside the classroom he was packing up, her stern face turned toward him while the student she'd pressed into service turned his face away and tried to look like he wasn't there. "It will only take a couple of weeks."

The headmistress looked unconvinced. "Perhaps. And perhaps it will take two months—"

"Which is still enough time—"

"—or perhaps it will take a year. I was under the impression that nothing was certain."

He sighed loudly. A year ago, he still wouldn't have had the courage, but a year of relative peace (apart from Quentin's occasional fits and Gilbert's constant state of near-starvation or exhaustion) had left him plenty of time to develop his relationship with the rest of the staff and find a way to be a good professor and Head of Gryffindor while going home to his wife every night. He knew why Minerva couldn't leave him alone. He was just that damn good. He was starting to accept the idea.

"I will be back here either way. No later than September first. I know you need me here at least as much as Harry needs me there. I will find a way."

Minerva's expression softened just a little. "If anyone could, it's you."

"You make me sound like some kind of miracle worker."

"I think I'm still in shock," she said dryly. "Draco, I taught you Transfiguration. I never expected you to amount to anything, if you even lived through the war. And here you are now, one of the best professors I've ever worked with and by far the favourite of the students. On top of that, you're always consulting with the Aurors and romancing a truly lovely woman. It _is_ something of a miracle. Forgive me if I'm not eager to lose you when you've become so vital to this school."

"You're not _losing_ me, I'm taking the summer off." He approached her and laid a placating hand on the arm that wasn't firmly gripping her escort. "I did the exact same thing last summer, and the summer before that. It's nothing new. I'll be here."

Her severe face creased with a real smile. "All right. I believe you. Take care of yourself, will you?"

"I'll do my best," he said with his own smile, knowing she was somehow aware of when a person was smiling or not smiling. "Have a good summer, Headmistress."

He caught up to Remus Lupin as he was carrying a few of his own things from his classroom to put on the train. They both planned to make a round of the school to ensure everything was in order once the students were gone, then Apparate to King's Cross to pick up their things. Their relationship was still somewhat tenuous. Remus had been much more directly affected by the actions of the Malfoy family than some of the other professors, and he was so much older than Draco that it was hard to find a solid connection. Harry considered him almost an uncle, and certainly a friend, but Draco still found himself uneasy at times. Of course, he used to feel that way around Minerva, so he was hoping the feeling would die away eventually.

"I suppose you're off to join Harry?" Remus inquired politely.

"Tomorrow," Draco said. "Your wife is taking over while Harry is away, isn't she?"

"Yes, Harry's put her in charge of the Aurors for the summer." He looked unsatisfied. "I likely won't see much of her."

Draco shrugged. "At least you'll still be together."

"Oh, that's right," Remus recalled, sounding apologetic. "Your wife is staying here."

"Afraid so. It will drive us both mad, but the house has been doing that for months. I'm keeping my fingers crossed that we can wrap things up in the States within a couple of weeks. Harry isn't optimistic, but then, he never is."

Remus smiled at that. "He does tend to be overly cynical. Well, with both of you working on it, perhaps your hope isn't unjustified."

They said a slightly awkward farewell to each other and headed in opposite directions to check the school for things out of place. Draco ran his hand over his face and thought ahead to tomorrow. He and Harry were supposed to go meet Peter's superior to get officially approved, then it was undercover work at the school. He wondered what a bunch of prep school Muggle kids were going to make of the eyepatch. He grinned to himself as he gathered up a couple of forgotten items to send to students. He was going to have fun with their parents.


	8. Chapter 7: Full of Surprises

Chapter Seven

Full of Surprises

Herbert Rosado blinked several times stupidly when Draco limped his way into the office. The secretary behind him was still gaping at him when Harry shut the door behind them.

"Hank, this is my brother, Jamie Edwards."

Draco raised his eyebrow when Harry introduced him, mouthing _Jamie?_ in amusement. Harry ignored him.

"Jamie, this is Hank Rosado, the Greenwood Preparatory Academy."

"I've been told the kids are calling it G-Prep right now," Hank said. "Um, very good to meet you, Mr. Edwards."

"Please, call me Jamie," Draco said grandly, which made Harry have to hold back a snicker. What was it about this undercover crap that had Harry acting like a twelve-year-old? "And just so you have a story to tell the parents, and possibly for your own piece of mind, I was mugged in New York City, and one of my attackers was carrying a knife."

He could almost feel Harry's surprise without looking at him. It was so easy to roll the lies off his tongue. He'd been in these kinds of situations a million times, when he'd been working at the British Embassy. What amused him was that people took it as a personal insult that he wore an eyepatch, like he was putting the injury on display. He just got creeped out by the idea of a false eye. Was he supposed to hide the fact that he was half-blind, just for their peace of mind?

"Oh, I didn't . . ." Hank trailed off, and gave Draco a wry smile. "All right, so I was wondering. Sorry about that."

"It's no problem. Listen, I just got off a seven-hour flight—" _ha ha, not likely, planes scare the crap out of me_ "—and it's already ten o'clock, my time. I'm here to introduce myself, but I'd rather talk about all the details tomorrow. Is that all right?"

"That's fine, sure," Hank said, nodding, but casting a glance toward Chris Bernard to seek her approval. She nodded as well.

The truth was, Draco and Harry were being taken to Peter's boss this afternoon, and the bulk of their false identification paperwork was coming from there. He wouldn't have the passport and so forth to present to Hank until tomorrow. There was actually a lot of things, including Hank's career, riding on Chris being savvy enough to handle this. Draco had just met Chris, and he had already dismissed his worries about her. She was solid. She would come through.

"Let's just talk about one thing, really quickly," Hank said. "I need to know what you're going to do here."

Draco was concerned that Hank was this far out of the loop. "Well, mostly I'll be working on Kendall Steen and whatever samples you come up with, but—"

"No, sorry," Hank said, waving his hand. "I meant what class you want to teach. I have to ask one of my teachers to take a short vacation."

"Oh, right," Draco said, suddenly stumped. "Um, what are my options?"

"The Chemistry, American History, and French teachers are all dependable, they won't ask too many questions. Plus they'd appreciate the time off."

"I'll take the French class, if that works out for everyone," Draco said. He could feel Harry's astonished look driving into the back of his head, and he smirked. He held up three fingers in front of him, where only Hank could see them, and slowly lowered one, then the next, then the last.

"I didn't know you spoke French," Harry said.

Draco's smirk became even bigger, and Hank chuckled silently as Draco turned toward Harry.

"_Mais oui, mon frere_," he said smoothly. Harry rolled his eyes. "Come on, _Drew_, you do know how I was raised."

"Oh, yeah," Harry mumbled.

"I thought you two were brothers," Hank said suspiciously, and he looked at Chris. "Weren't you both raised the same way?"

"No, we had different fathers," Draco said, and he released himself to slip fully into the persona of Jamie Edwards. "Drew and my father didn't really get along, by which I mean they would have liked to kill each other, so Drew lived with our mother's sister and her family."

He could see Harry thinking that over, and was surprised at what he'd come up with. But the more he thought about it, the more sense it made. Different fathers, certainly, and on the surface, Lily Potter and Narcissa Malfoy had little in common . . . but hadn't they both died for the same reason?

"You have the same last name, though," Hank persisted, though now he sounded merely curious rather than suspicious.

"We both took our mother's name," "Jamie" answered. "Her name was Daisy Edwards."

It was the first flower name he could think of that wasn't completely ridiculous. Harry was suppressing his disbelief, but he should really count his blessings that Draco hadn't blurted out "Chrysanthemum Edwards" when it popped into his head.

"Oh, I see," Hank said, catching the past tense and immediately adopting an attitude of contrition for bringing it up, however circuitous the route. "Well, you go ahead and get some rest, and I'll see you both here tomorrow, then."

"Great, we'll see you then," Jamie said with a convincing smile, and they exited the office while Chris Bernard stayed behind to discuss something with Hank. Peter met up with them to take them to their meeting. Draco let out a tired sigh as Peter greeted them.

"Honestly, wouldn't it be easier to simply let them in on it?" He was not particularly thrilled about living under an alias again. The lies might be easy to think up, but they were exhausting to live out. Besides, he didn't see the point. Chris and Hank already knew something weird was going on, and it was only a matter of time before they came to realize what that something was. Now it was a race against time not only to beat the maker and distributor of this mysterious drug to his next murder victim, but a race to do it before either Hank or Chris saw or heard something they shouldn't.

"Easier, but not safer," Peter said with a frown. "Listen, there's a lot you don't know about America, a lot of things that are different here. This type of work isn't as easy for us as it is for you."

"This might be a good time to start explaining what you mean by that," Harry said, looking perturbed. Peter, he'd explained to Draco, hadn't been here much since he'd brought Harry over, busy with whatever else he did. Harry had been magically combing the woods after the police turned up nothing the Muggle way, and it was taking forever. Besides, if anything or anyone was magically hidden in the woods, they'd probably see a wizard searching for them a mile away. He'd been wondering why there wasn't a team of wizards out here covering as much ground as possible.

"Okay . . . how do I put this?" Peter sighed. "We have a class system, sort of. We have the old families, and we have the new blood. America produces more Muggle-borns than any other country in the world, and there are just as many shitty theories as to why that's the case as there are wizards we don't know about. Those of us with the advantage of being old blood have always known about the wizarding world, were raised in it, and there are plenty of people on the margins who know where to go if a wizard pops up in their family. The ones with money send their kids to private school, like I went to, but a lot of them opt to have their kids privately tutored by a trained wizard. Boarding schools aren't that popular here, so there are a huge number of private tutors."

"I'm already seeing the problem," Draco said. "First of all, you have no way of knowing the curriculum the privately educated kids are subjected to. The tutors could be showing them anything."

"Exactly," Peter said with a vigorous nod.

"And then what happens to all those Muggleborns you don't know about?" Harry spoke up. "Don't you keep tabs on things like that?"

"We don't have an efficient system like you guys do," Peter shrugged. "We're a huge country, in population and land mass. It's impossible to keep up with, especially when you're understaffed. We've been plagued by staffing problems for years because let's face it, wizarding government doesn't have great benefits, and . . . well, let's face it some more, the Dark Arts are pretty cool. If it's so easy to hide, wouldn't you rather stay away from the government and do whatever the hell you want?"

Harry cleared his throat with what he probably thought was a subtle glance at Draco, who rolled his eye obviously enough that Peter saw it.

"Oh, right," Peter said, and cleared his throat, too. "Anyway, we need to get going, our meeting is in a couple of minutes." He looked around at the empty space around them. They were standing by a dumpster behind the grocery store down the street from the school, where he'd led them as they strolled along talking. "Come here," he said, and grabbed hold of them. He dragged the two of them through Side-Along Apparation and they cracked out of existence for a moment.

They jerked into being again in a small room with a tiled floor and a fluorescent light overhead. Still clutched in Peter's firm grip, they didn't even have the chance to stumble. The man did look pretty healthy, but still, he was stronger than he looked. He released them when they had their balance, and led them out of the room without a backward glance, even when another couple of cracks sounded out behind them. They emerged from the room directly into the sunlight, and found themselves looking up at an extremely large building with extremely unimaginative architecture. It was basically a big box with a few stained-glass windows to dress it up. There was a sign above the revolving-door entrance that declared it the New York State Department of Magical Activity.

The two Englishmen turned around and looked behind them. They'd just come out of a much smaller box entirely without windows called the DMA Apparation Terminal. Two witches dressed in khaki slacks, black blouses, and short but flowing black capes marched out of the terminal and brushed past the stationary trio (Peter had stopped to let Harry and Draco have a look). They entered the revolving door, and the three men stepped in behind them. They were immediately greeted with some rope partitions that divided the entrance into parts. Small signs atop the posts holding the rope declared one section for Wizards and Witches with Wands, one section for Squibs and Informed Muggles, and one section for Goblins, Elves and Sentient Magical Creatures. They followed Peter through the Wand carriers section, and there were the two witches in their short capes taking over for another witch and a wizard wearing the same outfit.

"See you tomorrow, Larry," one of them said to the departing man. She immediately turned to the trio standing in line and said in a bored tone, "Welcome to the State Department of Magic. Wand, please."

Harry and Draco relaxed a bit. This, at least, seemed familiar. They handed over their wands, which were inserted at one end into a small box which dispensed a printout of some kind, which was added to a clipboard that had a label reading "In." There was another clipboard reading "Out" which sat on a small wooden table with its fellow clipboard and the box. Peter declined to present his wand to the ladies, instead flashing some sort of badge that made their eyes widen and their feet shuffle to get out of his way. Harry and Draco reclaimed their wands and followed Peter inside.

There were two vast signs covering most of two walls of the wide foyer once past the first security checkpoint. One was a map of the building with office listings, and the other was a huge telephone directory that instructed who to call to report a breach of the Secrecy Laws or where to get information on the U.S. Quidditch League.

"This seems very efficient," Harry said encouragingly. He'd been hoping Peter was exaggerating about their problems.

Peter snorted. "And to think about two-thirds of all wizards in America even know it exists, much less where to find it."

Harry shut up. Draco hadn't said a thing since they entered in any case. He was feeling distinctly uneasy. Peter's ID might be enough to get them through security basically unmolested, but they were going to see his boss. There might be a background check. If so, they'd turn up the police record that said a man of Draco's description answering to the name of Drew was wanted for questioning regarding some reported identity theft. Damn Tuck and his criminal ways. Why did it have to be New York? Didn't kids in Oklahoma do drugs? He fervently hoped that returning to blond hair and walking without a cane would do to keep suspicion away.

They had to pass through two other security checkpoints that looked increasingly more demanding of the people passing through them, but Peter's clearance got them through without question every time. By the time they made it to the place Peter was leading them, they had seen so many offices that dealt with education, law enforcement, and record-keeping that their heads were spinning.

Peter rapped his knuckles on a door like many other doors, this one slightly more ominous in that it declared no purpose, merely had the word "Parish" on it. Peter pushed the door open and walked in with confidence. Harry and Draco followed more meekly.

"Peter Putnam," said a harsh, rasping voice, sounding surprised. "You'd better be here to tell me that you've cracked that drug case upstate. I will probably chuck you out my window if you are here with injuries again."

Harry and Draco glanced at each other significantly, realizing at the same time that neither of them had heard Peter's last name before now and were not sure whether he had wanted them to know it. They shuffled inside just in time to be introduced.

"I haven't solved it, Mum. But I've brought these guys to do it for me."

A woman with a face like gnarled tree bark, it was so seamed with frown lines, stared up at them without moving to offer a welcome or anything else. She sat at an extraordinarily large desk covered in parchment, quills, various food wrappers, random objects like a computer mouse and a coffee mug with a picture of Mount Rushmore, and what amounted to the accumulated knick-knacks of several centuries of family inheritance—an ancient mantel clock, a delicate old vase, and so on. It was staggeringly cluttered. The woman herself was so harsh-looking with the lines and the thatch of wiry gray hair that it was hard to meet her eyes. When Draco did, he discovered they were bright, island-ocean blue-green.

"I'm Mum Parish," she said after staring at them both for a few seconds apiece.

"Mum?" Harry blurted out.

"Short for Chrysanthemum, if you must know," she snapped. "My agents call me that 'cause I'm as loving and sweet as their dear old departed mother." She shot a killing look at Draco. "Something funny?"

"No, ma'am," he said, trying not to burst into childish giggles. He'd almost renamed his mother Chrysanthemum not an hour ago, and the irony was too much.

"Peter, you want to explain yourself, now that these boys know who they're talking to?"

"They're here to help out the investigation that you don't leave me much time for. They're experts. I've already got the local police and the principal of the school in on it. I just need to get them set up with false identities so the normals don't run into any trouble for working with them."

Mum Parish's hand went unerringly to a particular lump of parchment half-buried under a bag of pretzels. "Fill these out for them, you know the drill."

Peter grabbed the paper she thrust at him, and grinned. "Don't you want to know who they are?"

"Are you asking me not to trust you anymore, Putnam?"

He smirked. "Would it work?"

"I seem to recall training you, you insolent pup. If I didn't beat undying loyalty into you, I deserve to take my misplaced trust right up the ass."

Harry grinned at Draco. This woman was Mad-Eye Moody all over again.

Mum sighed. "All right, who are they?"

"Mum Parish," Peter said, clearly enjoying himself, "meet Harry Potter and Draco Malfoy."

Her eyes went blank with shock. "What?"

"I shit you not, Mum. These boys are the real deal."

Mum's mouth opened and closed. "Why are you _here_?" she asked. "Aren't you famous over there? Don't you both have _jobs_?"

"Peter said he needed help," Harry said with a shrug. "That's what my job is, I suppose."

"And I help him," Draco added.

"So you're Malfoy," Mum said, her sharp eyes falling on him. "The one that used to be crazy."

Harry chuckled, but Draco's jaw tightened.

"That would be me."

"Good," she said, never cracking a smile. "You'll know how to handle this sort of thing better than Potter."

Now it was Draco's turn to chuckle.

"All right, Peter, I've got work to do," Mum said, abruptly turning back to her agent. "Make sure to turn those forms in to the office downstairs. Oh, wait," she said, snatching them back from him. She shoved a paperweight that appeared to be fighting a losing battle aside, slid her hand under a parchment covered in inky splotches, and came out with a stamp. She quickly stamped the forms and handed them back, now sporting a bright red chrysanthemum flower in the bottom right corner. "We'll get them rushed. You can come back and pick them up first thing in the morning."

"You're my hero, Mum," Peter said, and with a nod at Harry and Draco, followed them out of the office. He closed the door with a gentle click, and grinned. "Well, that's Mum Parish."

"She's great," Harry said fervently.

"Just because she didn't ask for your autograph," Draco scoffed, feeling pleasant about how easy that was. And frankly, how frightening. If Mum had any more than about three agents working for her, it would be only too easy to create a lot of trouble.

"Well, it's not often that I can have my name said in a room where nobody tries to wrench my hand off from shaking it so much. You may have begun to notice something similar."

"Please. I wasn't destined for glory or whatever they kept saying about you back when we were nineteen."

They quickly filled out the forms to request their names and the proper credentials to be assigned to them, stopped in an office to have their photographs taken from about twelve hundred angles, and handed over the forms to a man who saw the red little flower on the bottom and merely raised his eyebrow and said,

"They'll be ready in the morning."

Still bantering, they followed Peter back out to the Apparation Terminal and returned to Greenwood, this time Apparating under their own power directly into the living room of the four bedroom house that Peter had somehow managed to acquire for the family's use. It was coated with spells, but Harry had keyed them to recognize himself and Draco. Now that they were back, he'd set them to recognize the rest of the family.

Draco could tell something was bothering Harry, and thought he knew what it was. He was probably having the same thoughts Draco had been having in Mum's office. Sure enough, he looked at Peter with troubled eyes and said,

"That was awfully easy."

Peter looked uncomfortable with this query, for some reason, even though he'd been surprisingly free with information lately.

"Mum trusts me, and I trust Mum. That's pretty much as far as it goes."

"You must have done a lot for her in the past."

"I have," he said shortly. "Like I was saying before, we're understaffed. I took on this case, and Mum expects me to use my resources to solve it. She's willing to finance the entire thing as long as I don't tie her up in worrying about it. She's got a million other things to look after at the same time. She expects that if I say you will handle it for me, then you will. If for some reason you don't, then it falls on me to finish things up and explain the error."

"How do you handle that much responsibility?" Harry said, sounding a bit awestruck.

"Why, don't you?" Peter countered.

Harry got quiet at that. Draco chose his opportunity to speak up. The tension in the room was too much after such a long day of finalizing plans, traveling over, and setting all this up.

"Peter, you never mentioned you were called Putnam before."

"Oh, right," he said, sounding unhappy. "What about it?"

"You didn't go to the Franklin Magical Institute in New Hampshire, did you?"

"Yes," he said, his voice and face going dark with suspicion. "How do you know that?"

Draco sat down at the dining room table and started laughing. "Where do I begin? I stole your identity once."

Peter's voice was cold. "What?"

Harry sat down and waited. Draco was going to have to make this good.


	9. Chapter 8: Dangerous Foes

Chapter Eight

Dangerous Foes

The advantage of having the use of such a big house, Harry thought (other than ensuring Crash and Charley wouldn't kill each other) was that it provided such a nice headquarters. School started back up after its brief break on Monday, and today was Thursday. It was a good day to have a meeting to discuss their strategies.

The adults—Harry, Draco, Hank, Chris, Peter, and Ginny—were sitting around the dinner table, the dishes pushed into the middle and ignored for now. Ginny had shrunk an extraordinary number of their possessions to fit into two trunks, and while Harry was grateful, he felt bad that she'd handled all of it and had the unenviable task of transporting it here without losing their rather rambunctious children. Still, it was nice not to be eating takeout on paper plates.

"Uncle Jamie," Charley interrupted them in a sweet voice. She'd been thoroughly coached on her behavior for the next few weeks. She was never—_never_—to refer to her favourite storyteller as Draco, Professor, or any variation thereof.

"Not now, Charley," Draco said, reaching out to pet her flaming red hair with affection. "We're having a meeting."

Charley opened her mouth to ask about the meeting, but saw her mother's narrow-eyed look, and dashed away. She was to make no mention of magic or wands, and she was not to refer to any member of her family as a witch or wizard. They didn't want to overload her, so they put no restrictions on centaurs, mermaids, or dragons. Anyone who heard her talking about something like that would think she was making up a story. She was, after all, a five-year-old girl. It was Crash that they worried about. He would inevitably slip up at some point. In fact, Harry was nearly certain that Crash would live up to his nickname in such a way that Harry or Ginny would be required to fix the damage immediately. They wouldn't take him to the Muggle hospital, they'd already agreed on that. He was just going to have to be very, very careful. That he and Hank Rosado's daughter had gone off to play directly after the meal and they hadn't heard a peep out of them was sort of worrying, actually.

"I am going to continue to search the town and the surrounding area," Harry said. "I know I haven't been turning anything up, but one can only hope. Once Jamie can pinpoint what exactly I'm looking for, things should become much easier."

Hank frowned at that. Draco had already been to see Kendall twice, but when she woke up, it was only to stare around with no comprehension, and drop back into an exhausted sleep. They hadn't been able to get anything out of her. The hopsital's testing results on the sample were quite useless, of course; they had determined that the drug was basically plant matter but had some other ingredients. What plants and what other ingredients, they had no idea.

"We have no sample," Hank reminded them.

"We will soon," Harry said confidently.

"Why do you say that?"

"Because Jamie will get one for us."

"How?" Hank asked, mystified. "Neither Chris nor I have been able to, and the kids _know_ us."

"Yes, Drew, how?" Draco asked, his eyebrow raised.

"With your charm and extraordinary good looks," Harry said, rolling his eyes. "Maybe I should remind you that teenagers love and adore you, and would confess to murder to make you happy?"

Draco flushed, but Chris interrupted in a snappish voice.

"I certainly hope so, Mr. Edwards. In case you'd forgotten, we do have a murder on our hands, and I would love it if _someone_ would confess to it. It's been two weeks. People are not happy with the police department right now. My boss and I both have our careers resting on this case, if we're not careful."

Suitably reminded of the severity of the situation, Harry was silent. It wasn't as if he didn't know what was at stake here. He'd come all the way from home to help them. Only Chris' complete faith in Peter kept the police from bulldozing over this situation, confiscating drugs they wouldn't be able to identify, and letting the culprit disappear. It was only Peter's faith in Harry and Draco's reputation that gave them the edge here. Harry didn't like this. He was an Auror, he was the bloody Head of the Auror division, and he knew how to do his job. If they wanted him to uncover some kind of conspiracy, then he needed them to let him do it.

"We've done this kind of thing before," Draco said, his one-eyed glare somehow managing to cow both Hank and Chris at the same time. "We just need some room to work."

"We'll leave you to it, then, oh wizard of the teenaged mind," Chris said sarcastically. Harry bit his tongue.

Peter, silent until that point, spoke up with an abrupt sharpness. "Chris."

She flinched.

"I trust these guys. Unless you've stopped trusting me, and I'd understand if you have, you need to give them a chance."

"I trust you," Chris muttered.

Hank, looking confused by the exchange, had his eyes on Harry. "Something about this seems to strike you as funny, Drew."

Harry shook his head, trying to rein in his amusement. Really, this was a completely serious situation. But the unwitting words Chris had just spoken were begging to be laughed at. Wizard of the teenaged mind, indeed. He did sometimes wonder if Draco had ever used Legilimency to establish the rapport he had with his students.

"I'm sorry. It's just . . . we're all stressed by this, and I think it might be easier if we tried to relax a little. As I said, I'm going to continue my search. Other than that, I don't think there's much to be done until Monday when we try to get to work on the kids."

"I still say one of those kids will turn narc if we pushed them the right way," Chris said.

Hank answered her. "You might even be right. Some of the kids are pretty upset about what's happening to Kendall. Her parents are staying very tight-lipped, but everyone seems to know that she's not really recovering. It shouldn't be impossible to convince someone to give you some of the drug if they know it's the only way to treat her. She is well-liked, if not popular." His eyes lit up as he thought of something. "Stacey Law was in the class where Kendall collapsed, and got really upset by it."

"Well, we'll start with her, then."

"Him. Stacey's a him."

"Right."

That seemed to settle everyone, for a moment, and in the seconds of quiet, Hank frowned. "Cristina is usually a lot more interested in adults than this," he said thoughtfully. "I haven't seen her since she left the table."

Ginny was frowning as well. "Crash should have been in here with a bloody nose or smashed finger or something by now. He always hurts himself trying to impress new people."

Images of Cristina providing audience to Crash's magical display or possibly laying under an accidental body binding were dancing in Harry's head as he pushed up from the table to go check on the children. Just then, Charley darted out.

"Daddy," she said with a wide-eyed look.

"Oh, damn," he sighed. "Don't tell me he broke his arm or something?"

Ginny and Hank stood up, too.

"Nooooo," she dragged the word out slowly. "I don't think so."

"What is he doing?"

"Kissing."

"What?" all three parents roared at the same time, and dashed for the bedroom where the kids had been playing.

Draco, Chris, and Peter gave each other embarrassed, alarmed looks.

"That is my cue to leave," Chris said, rising.

"Yeah, me, too," Peter agreed. "I'll take you home."

"What do you mean, she _made_ you?" Ginny's voice carried from the bedroom.

"Lucky you," Draco moaned. "I'm going to get an earful of this." He was staying in the fourth bedroom, down the hall and separated by a bathroom from the rooms the two "Edwards" children were using. There was no escape. Morosely, he drained the glass of wine he'd been working on, and eyed Harry's thoughtfully. Then he got up with a sigh to go break up the fight that seemed to be brewing.

Two minutes later, Hank was dragging Cristina out of the house by her arm, scolding her in rapid Spanish while she pouted with her remarkably red little lips and dragged her feet. Her long, beautiful curly hair had been bound up at the beginning of the evening, but was now tumbling down in dark glory around her shoulders. At eight years old, she was already predicted to be an extraordinary beauty when she grew up. Apparently she was practicing with outrageous flirtation already.

Draco tried to entertain Charley to keep her out of Harry and Ginny's hair while they extracted the story from Sirius. He found himself feeling sorry for the poor boy. It really didn't seem to be his fault.

"I was just showing her my room, and she said she never had a boyfriend before," Sirius said, squirming, his eyes darting everywhere, his face panicked. "I said, so what? But she said I was her boyfriend now. I didn't _want_ to be," he said in disgust. "I don't want a _girlfriend_."

"Did you tell her that?"

"Yes," he sighed. "But she said I had to, because it's not nice to tell girls you don't want to go out with them. And then she said since I was her boyfriend, she could _kiss_ me." He shuddered dramatically. "And then she _did_, and it was all . . . wet. Then she said I wasn't very good at it and I had to practice, but it was probably because I'm foreign and I have an accent. I _don't_ have an accent. She sounds funny, not me." Shoulders hunched, he cast his eyes up to his parents with tense worry. "I don't think she's normal."

"Very pretty though, isn't she?" Harry asked, a smile jerking at the corners of his lips.

"Harry Potter!" Ginny cried, smacking him on the shoulder.

Charley jumped down from Draco's lap and ran over to her mother. "You said not to call him that, Mummy! You said you were going to call Daddy Drew!"

Ginny opened her mouth to explain that it was only when other people were there, then sighed instead. "You're right, honey. Sorry."

"This is _stupid_," Crash spoke up again. "We have to call each other made-up names and get _kissed_ all the time. I want to go home."

Draco tried to cover up his laughter to avoid attracting Ginny's ire, but he didn't quite manage it. It was simply seeing their reactions. One would think Cristina Rosado was a far more dangerous foe than their mysterious drug manufacturer.

That was how Draco wound up being in charge of telling Sirius what "inappropriate" meant and explaining just how it applied to his activities with Hank's daughter.


	10. Chapter 9: Role Models

Chapter Nine

Role Models

"Hey, there," he said, stopping with his face a breath from hers and smiling at her tenderly.

"Hey, yourself," she replied, tilting her head the barest inch and more perfectly exposing her lips.

When he kissed her, it felt like coming home. He'd only been here a few days, but any time without her was like being exiled. His contentment was probably visible from outer space, he thought while he led her away from the station to an Apparation platform. People watched them as they walked, he realized, jealous of the glow that seemed to surround them. Or possibly just jealous that he had such a graceful creature on his arm.

"I have to tell you what happened on Thursday," he said with a chuckle. "Crash is in trouble."

"Oh, no. Tell me he didn't do magic?" Vianne asked worriedly.

"Well, they say love is a magic all its own," he replied.

"Love?"

"The principal brought his daughter over for dinner. His lovely, eight-year-old, exceptionally strong-willed daughter. She has decreed that Sirius is her boyfriend, and they got caught kissing. Then _Uncle Jamie_ got to explain what was so bad about that, just because Uncle Jamie _might_ have chuckled. For a moment or two."

Vianne laughed musically, and then they were at the platform. Conversation halted while Draco focused on his destination and brought them to the front door of the house where the family was staying. Vianne was only here for today and tomorrow, she was going back on Sunday night. She was here so they could go over the final plans for the house before she started scheduling work to be done. Carpets and tapestries were going to be gone forever; they were tearing out a couple of walls to let some air and light into the interior of the house; an entire wing that was traditionally for extended relatives of the Malfoy heir was getting refurbished and redesigned as a place for Ran to bring his friends during the summers; the renovations on the cellar, including expanding it and improving the lighting, as well as adding shelves and cupboards, would turn it into Draco's workspace.

Finally, the bitter memories at Malfoy Manor were going to be stripped out and carried away, to make room for the new family he had in Vianne and Ran. Finally, it would be home.

Vianne was greeted happily inside by the kids and by Harry and Ginny, and they all sat down to have lunch together. Vianne didn't even mention Sirius and Cristina's indiscretions, but she did smile to herself every time she looked at the unruly-haired boy. It was so good to have her here, Draco couldn't get over it. He honestly hadn't expected being married to agree with him so well. Now he couldn't think of a single thing he'd ever heard of, magical, Muggle, or otherwise, as incredible and amazing as loving his wife and knowing she loved him back. He wondered, sometimes, if his parents had felt this way about each other at one time. His father had been such a cold man, but maybe, just maybe, he had felt this leap of his stomach when he looked at Narcissa.

* * *

"I didn't know what kind of flooring you wanted in the cellar," Vianne said, looking up from her notepad where she'd been scratching out and rewriting all the details they'd been going over. "I assumed you would want concrete, but I thought I'd better ask."

Draco nodded, playing with a strand of her hair and feeling the beginnings of a headache. They'd been at it for two hours. "Yes. But do make sure they triple the insulation in the walls, or I'll freeze down there."

"Don't you want a fireplace installed?"

"Yes, but I want to do the insulation anyway. It'll keep things quiet, for one thing. For another, I ordered the stuff that has protective charms built into it . . . just in case."

Vianne didn't really like to be reminded that he liked to play with things that could blow up if he wasn't careful. She frowned. He kissed her softly on the cheek.

"You look so much more beautiful when you smile. Not that you don't look beautiful all the time."

She obliged him with a smile and a quick kiss in return, then pulled out a handful of thin wood samples.

"You still haven't picked out the material you want for the shelving down there."

"Oh, sorry, I thought I left a note for you on my desk."

"You might have," she said wryly, "but I'd never find it."

"It's possible that I should have straightened it up."

"Oh, it's possible, all right," she chuckled. "Most of it looks like your investments, but I swear I saw a stack of Ran's essays from second year."

"I thought you might want them. Don't mothers keep that kind of junk?"

"They do," she said, sounding surprised. "I didn't know it was for me. That's very thoughtful of you."

"I can see I'm not thoughtful very often."

"You're always thoughtful," she said with assurance. "I just don't expect you to think of things like _that_."

"Would you believe me if I told you I sat around trying to think up ways to make you happy?"

"Yes."

"Good," he murmured.

They were quite happily taking a break from their plans when they were interrupted by Harry.

"Hey, I just talked— oh! Sorry."

"That's all right," Draco said grumpily as he extracted his lips from his wife's mouth, his words catching Harry as he was turning around to retreat. Harry turned back with his face red. "What is it?"

"I was talking to Matt about Doug and Morgan, and I wondered if you had talked to those two yourself."

Draco frowned. "Why? Is something wrong?"

"Oh, honey, I forgot to tell you," Vianne said in dismay. "God, I knew I was forgetting something really important." There were tears in her eyes. "Using the Floo Network always does that to me."

"It's okay," Draco assured her, cupping her face with his hand. "What's going on?"

"I needed to ask you if you minded Douglas and Morgan coming to stay at the house for a little while, maybe a few weeks."

"Is there something wrong with their houses?"

"Just with the fact that they don't really want to be in them right now," Harry spoke up. "Matt told me they just came out to their folks."

"Who went through the roof," Draco guessed. He sighed unhappily. "Well, at least they finally said something. It's been what, almost three years?"

"You'd know better than I would. Anyway, I guess they asked Quentin first, but Dan's not thrilled with the idea, especially since Quentin still has those episodes. Matt says they called Ran up right after that. They forgot he was going to be living in your house now."

"They seemed to think you would be thrilled to have them," Vianne added. "Which, other than the fact that they're two of your favourite students, doesn't make any sense," she said, rolling her eyes. The beloved antics of Doug and Morgan were fairly well-known to all by now. They were about to start their seventh year, after all.

"It's fine with me," Draco said. "As long as you don't feel like they're going to be getting in the way. I don't want you to feel like you're running a shelter for homeless boys."

Vianne just smiled. "Well, I won't say they don't still require some supervision, but they're not really children. Matt's the youngest and he's turning fourteen. They can entertain themselves just fine, and they won't bother me at all."

"Just remember: the cellar isn't terribly important in the scheme of things, so it's available to lock troublemakers up in for as long as you need it."

There was a flash of something in Harry's eyes, a sudden constriction in his breathing, that he tried to hide but Draco noticed anyway.

"Oh, shit, Harry, I'm sorry."

There was more than one reason to convert that room into a workspace rather than leave it alone. In fact, Draco sort of wished Harry would be there when they tore the cellar apart. He and his friends had been locked in that cellar once, during the war.

"Sometimes I forget just how many bad memories are in that house. I forget they're not all mine."

Harry gave him a tight smile. "Just most of them. Sorry, I didn't mean to overreact—or interrupt. I'll let you two get back to your . . . planning."

Draco's spirits were obviously dampened, so Vianne tentatively changed the subject back to the boys.

"I haven't said yes yet, but I didn't think you'd mind."

"No, I don't. I'm glad they seem to know they're welcome."

"You've been very kind to them."

"Somebody ought to be."

"But it's always you," she said with a tender smile. "I really love you."

"And I really love the idea that this house is going to be truly ours, soon. Let's get back to draperies."

* * *

Peter asked a billion questions about magical education over dinner, wanting to know how many families chose private education, how many sent their kids out of the country, where the primary schools for child wizards were, and many more. He was taking notes on some of it, which sort of disturbed Draco. Was the education system really so bad here? Was that why they didn't have the first clue who this wizard in their area might be?

In the end, Vianne was the one who asked the question that had been burning in Draco's mind all evening.

"But don't you have schools for wizards here, Peter?" She did not know his last name. That was still knowledge only Harry and Draco were privy to, or she probably would have been calling him Mr. Putnam. His wife was entirely proper.

"We do, but they're not like yours," Peter said, frowning over his notes. "I mean, the schools we do have resemble your Hogwarts, yes, but . . . there are simply too many people living in the margins. I experienced an education a lot like the one your sons are getting. But with so many Muggleborns, we have a hard time getting word out about the schools. We also have a hard time having enough schools. There are only three boarding schools currently in the United States, and I'm told the situation is similar in Canada. Private education is usually the only option, because wizards tend to avoid large cities here and so there are never enough of them in one place to merit a permanent school. It's expensive, though. So a lot of kids get a half-assed education and an admonishment to keep it quiet, and they basically either just forget they have magic and move on with their lives, or they become too big of a nuisance to ignore and get themselves arrested for breaching secrecy or for improper use of magic."

"Either too much or not enough, sounds like," Draco offered.

"Damned if you do and damned if you don't, more like," Peter muttered. "We have a public school, though. It's a university."

"Really? For what age group?"

"For the university age group," Peter said as though it should be obvious. "Eighteen to twenty-something. The program is only two years, but we accept from the age of eighteen onward."

"We?"

"I taught there for a bit. Still go back as a guest speaker once in a while."

"What's the program?"

"It's a teaching program. The university is specifically designed to train private tutors. Ideally, after two years, you will be equipped to teach children between the ages of ten and fourteen, or fifteen to eighteen, depending on which certification you chose."

"And these are the only people certified for private tutoring?" Harry asked, his eyes lighting up. They might be able to track down some information after all.

"No," Peter said, and Harry wilted. "Anyone can hire their old family friend to be a private tutor. The university just provides a standard curriculum and recommends its students for a governmentally funded tutoring position. What the government does is pay for these trained teachers to seek out young wizards without connections to the magical world. It's a very hard job. It can take the first year or two just to find a student, and the next several months just convincing them of what they are and convincing their parents to accept them as a teacher. The benefit is that the university students bring these families into contact with the magical world and get them involved in it."

"I get it," Ginny spoke up. "The more of these publicly educated tutors you have, the more closely knit magical America becomes. These tutors are the role models for magic here."

"Exactly right," Peter said, flashing her one of his rare smiles. "It's a good program, in one sense, but in another, it's horribly flawed. Can you see the problem?"

Ginny frowned, but Draco caught it.

"No regulation once the teachers leave the school. They can go through the program to get the certification, show a government badge to say who they work for, then they can teach horrible things to unsuspecting kids. So it's just as likely you'll have a bad role model as a good one."

"That's a great deal of the problem, yes. But it would be easy enough to track down tutors who work for the government. The real problem is the people who get the university training then never go on to sign up for the government job. They learn how to teach, often improving their own very limited education in magic, then disappear. We don't know what they're doing."

They all looked at each other carefully. It was Vianne who spoke.

"That's who is doing this, isn't it?" She looked at Peter with fear in her eyes, and Draco saw her start wringing her hands under the table. "It's someone who went through your system."

"Merlin . . ." Harry muttered. "That's how they're getting it into the high school. One of the students is a wizard. They're being instructed by one of these—" he waved his hand, "rogue tutors."

Peter looked stunned. "Shit. Holy shit. You're right." He jumped to his feet and started to run from the room.

"Where are you going?" Harry called out.

"I gotta go to the state department. I need to get my buddy in the records room to get a list of recent program graduates who didn't opt for government work."

"What should we do?" Harry asked.

"Teach. Talk to the students. Try to find the wizard. Or witch, I suppose," Peter added, with a glance at the two wives who were raising their eyebrows at each other with disgruntled looks.

"Don't worry, Sunshine, I know you're plenty crazy and devious enough for something like this," Harry grinned at Ginny.

She scowled. "That's not the point. This chauvinistic idea that wizards are—"

"Sunshine, you can't possibly think I'm a chauvinist."

"Oh god," Draco moaned. He looked at Vianne with intensity. "I love you."

Vianne gave him a cold look. "Just because I'm content to let you take the lead doesn't mean I don't have the ability to do so."

"I'm well aware of that," Draco assured her. "You managed to raise a werewolf just fine without me for twelve years, didn't you?"

Vianne looked mollified. Harry and Ginny were already through with the argument and pinching each other and laughing.

"I love this family," Draco declared grandly. "We're sitting on what could be a huge problem, and here we are—" He broke off with an extremely undignified and unmasculine squeal when Vianne pinched him. "I'm serious. This is much better than not eating and sleeping, like I used to do."

He was looking so deeply at Vianne that he didn't notice Harry doing the same thing with Ginny.

"Believe me, we know how strong you are," Draco said softly. "You make us better, and that's not easy."


	11. Chapter 10: That Teacher

Chapter Ten

_That_ Teacher

Draco was used to starting each school term out with a quick sweep of the dormitories to be sure they were all in order, then taking the long walk down to the dungeon of an ancient castle, surrounded by personable ghosts, lively portraits, and magically preserved stone that would otherwise be crumbling with age and damp. There in the dungeon, he would check that all the ingredients for his potions were stocked, that his classroom was organized and not drafty or freezing, and that none of the arriving students had decided it would be amusing to leave him a "present" in the form of a living creature or highly volatile substance left unattended.

Today, Draco was entering territory that was extraordinarily strange to him, yet familiar in many ways. The gray-and-green industrial carpet in his new classroom and the white walls covered with drab yellow posters of conjugated French verbs were nothing he had come to expect from the school environment. But at least it wasn't as foreign as it could have been for him. He'd worked in a nondescript cubicle at the Muggle British Embassy for four years, and he knew about boring carpets and unread notices. He was going to have to get used to this whole idea of writing with a marker on a dry erase board, on the other hand. He was used to flourishing his hand and having everything he wanted appear on a chalkboard older than his grandmother.

He was also not used to the idea of a school that everyone vacated at the end of the afternoon. He thought he might enjoy knowing that once he walked out the front entrance, the kids were no longer his responsibility. At 3:45 pm, their troubles were under someone else's authority. Merlin, what would it be like to relax in the evenings? He feared he wasn't really going to get the chance to find out, because he was going to (speaking optimistically) be spending his evenings working out the nature of the potion these kids were addicted to, solve the case, and rush back home to help Vianne renovate the house.

He stood at the front of the classroom, eyes the posters with distaste, and decided that a little magic where no one could see it wouldn't hurt anyone. He could always switch things back when they wrapped up and went home and the regular teacher came back. He supposed it wasn't particularly smart to keep his wand on a string under his shirt, but he was doing it anyway. He pulled it out, whispered a few spells, and grinned. The kids ought to like this. Their regular teacher appeared to have no imagination whatsoever. He wondered if the woman had ever even been to France.

He'd also come prepared with a few items of his own. Never hurt to start things off with some diplomacy, and he happened to have a few things that fit perfectly into the intelligent French teacher's arsenal for getting students to like them. He hadn't wanted to transport any glass around, so he'd brought a package of paper cups to Transfigure. These kids were going to get the real experience. He wanted to be that really awesome teacher whose classroom you hung out in when you didn't have to. He was that teacher at Hogwarts, but it had taken three years to get there, and he had to make his impression _fast_ here at Greenwood.

The first teenager stepped into the classroom, talking on her cell phone animatedly, then saying regretfully that she had to go, it was time for stupid . . . French . . . ohmigod. She had to go. She really had to go. Apparently, it was a Code Blue, whatever that meant. Draco just turned toward the dry erase boards casually and wrote "Jamie Edwards" on it.

Two other students came in and immediately started chattering with the first girl in excitement. A boy bounded through the door, which slammed against the wall and caused the girls to make faces of disgust at him.

"What's that smell? It smells great!"

More students poured in, ignoring him completely in favour of looking at the room. The verb conjugation posters were there, of course, although they were a much more appealing sky-blue colour now. They were nestled in among black and white photographs of Montmarte, an outdoor café, an angled shot of the Eiffel Tower, and an aerial view of a farming community. The stereo he'd brought was playing a French hip-hop album he'd picked up a few years ago when he was doing the club scene, and the smell of fresh baguettes—he'd Apparated all the way down to New York City and back this morning to get good French bread—wafted through the classroom. The surprisingly _empty_ classroom. He'd Vanished the desks for the day so the floor would be open space. A huge checkered cloth was spread out in the middle of the floor.

The bell on the wall, which rang to let students know they had one minute to get to their classes, emitted a musical tone rather than the shrill ring Draco had been expecting. Still facing the board, he took a deep breath, and put on the persona of Jamie Edwards, then turned around. The students were milling around the edges of the cloth in confusion, staring at his back. When he turned, half of them gasped in surprise at seeing his eyepatch and asymmetrical appearance.

"You're not Ms. Danvers," one girl blurted out, and immediately flushed.

"I'm guessing that's because he's Jamie Edwards," said a boy confidently, pointing at the board. "Unless the music is Jamie Edwards?" he asked the slender man at the front of the classroom.

"No, that would be me," he answered.

"I love this music," another girl offered tentatively.

The bell let out another pleasing ring and the last of the students dashed in. Mr. Rosado was fairly strict about tardies, but nowhere near as strict as most of their parents. There usually were no tardies.

"If everyone would like to sit down?" Jamie Edwards said, gesturing with a graceful hand to the checkered cloth.

His voice was British. He was wearing all black. His thick brown hair hung rakishly over his forehead. He was wearing an honest-to-God eyepatch. Every girl in the room immediately sat down with much flaunting of their more attractive parts, trying to impress him with obedience and perky young breasts at the same time. He'd been counting on such a response, and he smiled inwardly.

"What's all this?" asked one of the boys, disgruntled at the instant loss of female attention.

"This," Jamie said crisply, "is how I plan to get to know this class today. I have no lesson planned, just a picnic of sorts. It seemed when I saw the classroom yesterday that no one was familiar with _anything_ French but the verbs, so I thought I'd introduce you." They were all sitting and watching him with strict attention. "So, class, meet France." He picked up the wide basket full of sliced baguette and cheese hunks, and handed it to the nearest student. "Pass this along to everybody." He started pouring very small amounts of slightly altered wine (that he'd personally altered, removing most of the alcohol content) into the tiny wine glasses he'd Transfigured from paper cups and handed those along as well.

"You can't give us wine," someone blurted out. "You're a teacher!"

"And I will no doubt be fired by noon. Assuming Principal Rosado finds out. I'm not planning to tell him, myself." He raised his eyebrow and smirked at the class.

"Who _are_ you? Where is Ms. Danvers?"

"Ms. Danvers is taking a short holiday. I'm your substitute teacher for the next couple of weeks. And I, apparently unlike this Ms. Danvers, have _been_ to France. I feel confident that I can teach you to love the country enough that the language won't seem so boring by the time your normal teacher returns. Maybe she'll even leave up the pictures, _oui_?"

Jamie watched with amusement as people tentatively took slices of bread and accepted their little wine glasses with awe. It was a stroke of brilliance, it was. The perfect way to tell them that he was on their side, certainly not cozy with the principal, and he was familiar with the concept of secrets. He wasn't planning to be seen anywhere _near_ Detective Christine Bernard.

"I am going to start by introducing myself," he said, in French. This was a second-year class, and he was hoping they would keep up. "I am Jamie Edwards, and I am from England. Some of you will meet my brother Drew today, because he is teaching European History while _Madame_ Collette is having her baby. Now, I would like to meet all of you. Let's start with you," he said, turning to the boy on his left. He jerked in surprise to see how intently the boy was staring at him.

Someone laughed. The boy slowly blinked, and shook his head. He turned to the girl seated next to him and nudged her. She grudgingly became his spokesperson.

"That's Dumb Eddie, sir. He can't actually speak, he's deaf. He's really good at reading lips, but not that great in French."

Jamie had been told about this student, but hadn't realized he'd be in his first class. Edward Cavanaugh had insisted on taking French class. He was probably one of the most intelligent students in the school, and was somehow getting a 'B' in foreign language without hearing a word of it.

He'd worked incredibly hard to keep up at this school, and the teachers were accommodating enough to remember to face the classroom at all times so that Edward could read their lips and wouldn't need to hire a personal translator for all his classes, nor need to go to a specially designed school for the deaf. He wanted to be at Greenwood Prep to have that advantage on his college entrance applications—he planned to go to a prestigious university. His parents didn't push him to succeed, either. He pushed himself, and his parents gave him whatever support he asked for—like the freedom to choose his own high school. Jamie had known when Hank told him about the boy that he would like Edward Cavanaugh. Now he found himself meeting him for the first time in the middle of a serious social flub. Oops.

"You must be Mr. Cavanaugh," he said in English. "I'm sorry, I didn't realize you were in my first class." Then it struck him at last. The question he ought to have asked Hank last week. "How _do_ you participate in your lessons for this class?"

The slim, hollow-cheeked boy held up a finger to indicate that Jamie should wait for a minute, then wrote something down in the notebook that sat in his lap. He withdrew the sheet of paper with a quick jerk to rip it from the binder and handed it over.

_I do written assignments to make up the class participation grade, and Ms. Danvers and I type the oral exam questions and answers out on her computer. She does most of the lessons in English, so I keep up pretty well._ The rest of the note was written in French, which made Jamie grin. It said that if he felt the need to work out a new system while he was teaching this class, could he please contact Edward's mother Veronica Cavanaugh to discuss it.

"I'm okay with the system you have with Ms. Danvers," Jamie assured him. "Mr. Cavanuagh, do you use sign language?"

Surprised, he nodded after a moment of hesitation, causing a lock of silky black hair to slip over his forehead. He brushed it away self-consciously, and Jamie immediately pegged him as one of those unfortunate people who had no idea how many people would kill to have hair like that. Or cheekbones like that. Or lashes like that, surrounding eyes like that. Edward could be getting laid every night, but Jamie knew on instinct the poor kid was a virgin.

Jamie raised his hands. _"I know American Sign Language. Do you want to communicate with me this way?"_ he asked, going through the motions that had taken him the better part of all four years at the embassy to perfect. But damn, had she been worth any minute when he finally approached her to show off what he'd learned.

The boy looked pleased and said he'd love to. Jamie asked him to bring in a copy of his past few assignments with Ms. Danvers so he would get a feel for the type of assignments he'd need to create for Edward's participation grade. Edward agreed to do so, then welcomed him to Greenwood Prep shyly, looking down at his notebook. Jamie tapped him on the shoulder and asked if he'd rather work on something else today, since he wanted the class to speak only French. Edward shook his head, still shy, and said he'd rather watch. He was trying to pick up the rudiments of reading lips in French, despite the frustrations that it caused.

The rest of the introductions were a little more traditional. Jamie simply wanted their names, their favourite subjects and extra-curricular activities, and their hometown. None of the kids seemed to have been born here, and as two more classes stumbled their way through the simple exercise, Jamie found only five who'd been here long enough to consider it their place of belonging. Of course, he only had about a third of the students at the school. There were Spanish and German classes at Greenwood Prep, too. They were all quite bright and hard-working, but Jamie didn't meet any others who impressed him as much as Edward did. He did, however, meet the one person in the school he planned to avoid at all costs.

They called her Flip. Since they called Edward Dumb Eddie, he assumed "Flip" was a stupid and possibly even mean-spirited nickname. Her real name was Courtney Ware, so unless her middle name was Philippa, Flip came from something else. It didn't take too long to figure out what that was.

It was the girl's tendency to freak out. She had enough mood swings to be bipolar, PMSing, and god knew what else all together. She couldn't sit through a class without jumping up from her seat to use the bathroom, to sharpen a pencil she didn't even write with, or just switch desks. If someone spoke to her, she sometimes responded with enthusiasm and warmth, and sometimes were bitter enmity and fury. The other students seemed rather afraid of her, but Draco planned to avoid her for an entirely different reason. She came to introduce herself all over again after her class period was over with.

"I'm Courtney, but everybody calls me Flip," she said without preamble.

"I remember," Draco answered, having learned just this fact not fifteen minutes ago.

"Anybody ever told you that you're pretty hot, for a teacher?"

Draco figured she was giving him a hard time on his first day. "My wife says that all the time," he said lazily.

"Would your wife do a threesome?"

"_What_?"

"Just wondering whether or not she would be okay with you and I hooking up, maybe want to get involved."

"But— no, she wouldn't."

"Well, we don't have to tell her then."

"Who said _I_ was okay with that? I'm _married_. You're my _student_."

Courtney-and-or-Flip shrugged, and the mood around her became sorrowfully depressed just that quickly.

"Okay, I understand. I'm not that great-looking, right?" She turned away.

"Courtney, that's not what I said. I don't even want to get _into_ that dicussion. I just said no, and I told you why. That's it. That's all. And that's plenty. Okay? Don't even think about it."

"Yeah, sure," she whispered as she trudged out.

Draco stared after her in bewilderment, and became even more confounded when she was hailed outside by another student and immediately became bright and bubbly in greeting. He'd seen her snarling at someone earlier for chewing their gum too loudly. It was like she had six personalities floating around in her brain. He made a mental note to ask Hank what in hell was wrong with the girl. He got the feeling she wasn't finished with him yet.


	12. Chapter 11: Golden Boy

Chapter Eleven

Golden Boy

Stace let out one last gasp and slowly collapsed, folding himself to one side to avoid crushing Autumn. She made a quiet moaning noise deep in her throat and shifted just a bit the other way to keep him from falling on her arm. Stace smiled at her and let his hand brush her damp cheek.

"Thanks," he said.

She grinned at him wickedly. "You're welcome."

Despite the sexual release, his heart was still painfully unrelieved. She'd wanted this today and had pushed him to come over (her parents were out of town for two days) when he'd been trying to get his homework done so he'd have the weekend for soccer practice. She'd been involved and energetic, way more so than usual (if there could be a "usual" when they'd only done this four times so far). Maybe it was just good sex, but Stace doubted it. He thought she'd looked bright-eyed, a bit too flushed, even before they'd gotten started.

He opened his mouth to ask her, but couldn't bring himself to say it.

"What?" she purred, her gorgeous lips still curved up in a smile.

He disguised the movement by stretching his neck out and kissing her. Her hand caught in his hair, then roamed over his back, and she deepened the kiss. Stace pulled back, trying to convey his disbelief through his expression without needing to say a word. She couldn't possibly still have that much energy left in her, could she?

But he didn't ask, and because he didn't ask, he didn't know. That's what he told himself. If he never asked her about Red-Hot, he would never know whether or not she was taking it. The signs he was learning to recognize were just a mistake, and he didn't need to bring them up to her. Because if he had to bring it up, he didn't know how to deal with it. What could he say?

Stace himself never had and never would use drugs. He'd decided that a long time ago. Not because it was "wrong" or because it was supposedly so harmful, ecause it wasn't like the anti-drug campaigns made it out to be. It had been a decision made because he was extremely image-conscious. He was supposed to go far in life, maybe get into politics someday, and you just didn't do things like that with so many prudish voters out there. That's what he'd always told himself. That it was a choice everyone had to make for themselves, and he'd made his only because so much of the world wasn't as enlightened as he was regarding personal freedom.

Now it was something different, and it was the difference that had him concerned about Autumn. He didn't care about future campaigns or what was on the record at this point. Seeing Kendall Steen overdose had done something to him. She'd never come back to school since that day three weeks ago. She was still incoherent, apparently, and unable to rouse sufficiently to be considered fully conscious. If there was anything Stace did not want to see in his lifetime, it was Autumn collapsing and being rushed to the hospital. He was reasonably certain that his girlfriend wasn't using Red-Hot at anywhere near the level Kendall had been, but he was still scared. He didn't want to admit that, least of all that, so there was another reason not to think about Red-Hot.

"What's wrong?" Autumn said with another lazy smile, but the tone of her voice made it clear that she knew what he was thinking. Her fingers twisted in the sheets.

"Nothing, baby. That was great. Come on, let's get in the shower."

Autumn sometimes made fun of him, for the showers. He was a neat freak in general, but specifically when it came to perspiration and his body. It could be the cleanest sweat in the whole world, but he didn't want it on him, not even his own. Just like he didn't want his bread to touch any other part of a meal, or any hands but his on his steering wheel. It was just one of the rules to live by when you were around Stacey Law. If you caused him to sweat, everything went on hold until he'd showered.

"Do you want something to eat?" Autumn asked as he headed for the bathroom. She was pulling on a t-shirt, but didn't bother with any pants. "Are you hungry?"

Normally, she would have gotten in the shower with him, or been content to sit and wait for him for a couple of minutes. He figured she was still trying to work off some energy. She was probably going to crash soon, though, if she was anything like the others he'd seen lately. Her cheeks were getting pale.

"Sure, that'd be good. What do you want?"

"I'm not that hungry," she said cheerfully, and his stomach soured and took away any traces of his hunger, too. They were never hungry.

He got in the shower while she hurried to the kitchen to fix something for him. At least she knew about things like what food groups were allowed to touch each other, Stace reflected as he let the hot water stream over him and calm him. She was well-used to all his odd habits now. They'd always fit together so well, it had been completely natural for them to get together. He wanted to be a politician. Autuman was an accommodating person, a people pleaser, which made her really flexible. She was beautiful and sexy and intelligent and logical. She was perfect.

"She's _not_ a junkie," Stace told the bottle of hair conditioner he was holding. Then he leaned against the wall of the shower and tried to muffle the sob that tore its way out of his throat.

* * *

Stace picked at his lunch and watched Adam Phillips and Landon Halsbeck lean over some book they had open on the table. Autumn was at a lunch meeting with some other girls who wanted to start some kind of program at the elementary school, and today the company of Mike, Jay-Jay, Verona, and Dave was simply not enough to distract him from his mental torment. First he'd lost Adam's friendship, now all this. He was starting to think Verona was using, too.

The thing with Adam was not his fault. Stace knew that. Autumn had wanted him, and that wasn't his fault. He and Adam had been vying for her attention since the beginning of freshman year, and how could Adam blame him if Autumn had chosen to give that attention to Stace? Adam had accused him of going behind his back, lying to Autumn about him. That was stupid, and it wasn't like Adam at all. So there it was again, that Red-Hot. Had to be that.

Stace watched Adam with regret. He was pale and listless-looking. Yesterday, he'd been bouncing off the walls like Jay-Jay skipping his meds—and Jay-Jay had serious ADHD, whereas Adam didn't. What was with everybody at this school all of a sudden? What was so great about this stuff? Stace was staying well out of it, and he honestly didn't want to know the answers to his own questions, but even so. It was completely irrational for an entire school full of college prep kids to be getting hooked on something this destructive. Stace knew they were all keeping it under pretty good control, with the exception of Kendall, but how could they stand those ups and downs all the time? How could Adam, always one of the most upstanding and responsible students, be sinking so low?

Stace didn't know where Red-Hot had come from. But he glared at Landon and wanted to blame him, anyway. How in the hell Adam had gotten Landon to start talking to him again, Stace had no idea, and considered it a bigger mystery than the origins of the aggravating drug. Landon had had it in for Stace and Adam ever since Shawn Randall's suicide. They hadn't wanted to see Landon hanging out with a kid like that—totally ignoring that Landon _was_ a kid "like that"—and they'd broken off the friendship in protest. Things had been uncomfortable after that, sure, but it wasn't until Shawn was dead that Landon had become so bitter toward them. They could walk right up to him and ask him a question, and Landon would pretend they weren't even there. Now he and Adam were buddies?

Stace gave up on his lunch and threw it away. He took up his backpack and went to the library to do his Pre-Calc homework. He should have gotten it done last night, but after leaving Autumn's house, he'd been too distracted and had ended up playing a couple of games on his Xbox until his parents freaked out and told him to get to bed. They always freaked out when he gave even the slightest appearance of not being completely responsible for himself. Staying up too late was serious business, but if they'd known he hadn't done his homework . . . God help him. It would be Armageddon like most kids didn't experience unless their parents found out they'd impregnated a crack-whore while ditching school on standardized testing day using a car they stole from a state senator.

"Great," he heard someone say brightly around a bookshelf. "Thanks very much, Mrs. Knight."

"Oh, call me Polly," the school librarian giggled, sounding pleased.

Stace nearly gagged. The voice was British, so it was one of the two Edwards brothers, and he was sick of watching the girls fall all over themselves for a couple of substitute teachers. He sneaked a peek, and was amused to see that it was _both_ Edwards brothers. Mrs. Knight was probably having an orgasm just listening to them.

"Did you talk to Vianne last night?" the History sub, Drew, asked his brother as they headed by Stace.

"What do you think? I talk to her almost every night," the French Sub, Jamie, replied.

"Did she say when the boys want to come visit?"

"In a couple of weeks is all the detail I got. Ran asked me if Doug and Morgan can come, too. I just said I'd think about it."

"Can we let those two loose on an unsuspecting country?" Drew laughed. He'd told the students to call him Drew. He said he was too young to be called mister yet.

"And I thought _I _might shake things up," the one who didn't mind being called Mr. Edwards said, rolling his one good eye.

The two passed out of the library, and left Stace thinking. Those two were strange, and it wasn't just that one of them wore an eyepatch and limped around like he'd been in a freaking war. Stace couldn't quite put his finger on what made him think they were strange, it was just a feeling. He didn't know who "the boys" or this Doug and Morgan were, but he did remember that Vianne was the one-eyed brother's wife. The girls had discussed the fact of his married status with great disappointment. Stace wasn't in French, he took Spanish, but he'd heard about Jamie Edwards serving wine to the kids on his first day. Apparently Principal Rosado still hadn't found out. Stace was hoping they would have some kind of parent-teacher night while the subs were here. He couldn't wait to see what the parents would make of them. For his parents, having a teacher ask to be called Drew was bad enough. But Jamie . . . God, an eyepatch? Who _wore_ those? It would be the most fun Stace would be likely to have all summer to watch the parents at this school have a collective aneurysm.

There were rumours starting to fly around about them, too. Someone had asked why they didn't really look alike, and it turned out they had different fathers. But Jamie had said something about growing up with his parents, so it came out that Drew had lived with other relatives. Flip had been the only one bold enough to ask why, and by then the substitute teachers had already caught on to the unspoken policy of ignoring Flip as much as possible. There were already a trillion stories about it, but the brothers seemed totally oblivious about the ruckus they were creating. The only things known for sure were that Drew Edwards had his whole family here because he was staying until Mrs. Collette came back to work and that Jamie Edwards was planning to be home in two weeks when Ms. Danvers' extra-long vacation ended.

It was a lot of unknown information for a community this small, and this white-collar, Stace thought. And to think Principal Rosado used to be the juicy gossip, with his (allegedly) illegitimate daughter. Stace wondered if there was a way to finagle more information out of the two. He'd practically be holding the keys to the city if he knew more about them than anyone else. Of course, he practically held the keys to the city, anyway. He was Greenwood Prep's current golden boy.

Stace gave up on his homework and prayed fervently for the weekend. He just wanted to get out for a few hours to breathe some fresh air and run his legs off. That always cleared his head. He had tutoring this weekend, but soccer came first to him.

In the hallway, he met up with Mike and Dave to head to math class.

"You do your homework?" Dave asked.

"Tried to."

"Yeah, me either," Dave answered with a smirk.

Stace smirked back. "Brightest hope for the future, that's us."

"You think they'll notice if us promising young red-blooded Americans flunk out of calculus?"

"Don't you know anything?" Mike said, rolling his eyes exaggeratedly. "They don't expect us to pass this class. They expect us to hire a PR guy to make up quotes about the records being faulty and our accuser being petty."

It felt surprisingly good to laugh.


	13. Chapter 12: Popularity Contest

Chapter Twelve

Popularity Contest

A couple of girls walked by the table she was sitting at and started giggling, making it clear they found her amusing. Emma ignored them. She knew she would never be popular in any sense of the word. She was one of the very few kids who went to Greenwood Prep simply because they lived in town. So many families moved into the area so their kid could go to high school here, but Emma Warcheski had grown up in Greenwood. She and her friends had hiked in the forest, played in the brook there, rode their bikes up and down every street, and climbed every tree in this community. She resented the intrusion into her life of the Outsiders. The ones who came here just for the chance of a better college. She'd be damned if she thought any one of the students actually cared about their schooling; they just couldn't fathom a universe in which pleasing their parents wasn't the most important thing in the world.

Emma wasn't like them. She never had been. The only thing she cared about, other than becoming a wildly successful artist in the city and proving to them you didn't have to start rich, was destroying them along the way. The all knew about her art. Emma was a fantastic artist, everyone said so, but probably disturbed. According to the school counselor, she had anger issues. Emma found drawing pictures of her classmates being decapitated and eaten very therapeutic. She also liked to laminate her pictures and put them on her locker with so much tape that it took half an hour to get them free. Ty, the janitor, had shaved it down to twenty minutes now, actually. Principal Rosado was always sending him to scrape the pictures off. He kept threatening to expel her, but her grades were good, she never acted out physically, and her parents were long-standing members of the community. She just liked to draw dead people.

"Yo, Warcheski!" someone shouted across the lunch room. "Just because you're colour blind doesn't mean the rest of us have to suffer!"

A few snorts of laughter erupted from the companions around the speaker—some newish guy that Emma didn't care about—and a few supportive cat-calls. Emma flicked an imaginary piece of fuzz off the shoulder of her black shirt (which matched perfect with her black pants and shoes) and returned to her latest drawing. Autumn Callavetti, the poor dear, had somehow managed to fall from a great height—probably off her pedestal—and break her neck. Grotesquely. She'd bashed in the side of her face in the process, too. It was really tragic. It was going to be a stunning picture when Emma coloured it in.

Emma got fed up with the noise in the cafeteria and retreated to the bench outside where you only sat if you were in exile, which Emma figured she was. None of her childhood friends had gone to Greenwood. Emma was only going there because her parents were convinced that underneath her refusals to study, her black clothes, and the general state of rebellion, lay a bright mind that would go far if applied properly. Emma knew it, too, but she'd do it on her own terms, thank-you-very-much.

She pulled out her charcoals and opened her private sketch book, and went to work on her current _real_ masterpiece. The best drawings were the ones she put in this book and didn't show anyone. She couldn't afford to ruin her carefully crafted image or let on that she was anything other than what she appeared to be. But she was different, sometimes. She knew it was pathetic, she knew she was a real sap, but her current masterpiece was the same subject it always was. Stace Law. In this one, he was asleep on his desk with one hand cradled under his cheek and the other laid over a soccer ball. It was inspired by how tired he'd looked to her lately, she'd just included the soccer ball for some perspective. It was turning out really well. It was so movie-cliché stupid for the goth girl to fall in love with the school's golden boy, but Emma couldn't help it. At least Stace was _real_. He didn't try to lie about who he was, and he made no secret of his goals in life. He was following the American dream simply because there was nothing better to follow, and he was going to bag the best trophy wife he could along the way whether he loved her or not—the fact that Autumn knew her fate was what was pathetic about it. He was a cynic, world-weary before he ever really got into the world.

It was this that made Emma love him, and it was this that meant they had no chance. She was not a trophy wife. She wouldn't be with a politician or a Fortune 500 big cheese if someone put a gun to her head. The only thing she could do to change that would be to convince Stace that there was something better in life to try for. Something more fulfilling than the status quo. That it was okay to have dreams. Emma had no end of ideas and suggestions, but first she would have to get Stace to give her the time of day. It wouldn't happen because he was committed to that life he mocked and only looked at trophy girls. It was a cycle that would require help to break. It would require someone Stace might actually listen to putting in a good word for her. Unfortunately, most of the people Stace trusted wouldn't want to help. So Emma had to take what she could get. And what she could get was someone who wanted a favour in return.

* * *

After school, Emma hiked for about twenty minutes due east into the woods, until she got to the abandoned log cabin some rich retard had built without realizing the water company wouldn't service the middle of the freaking forest. It was nearly complete, but just an empty shell of graying wood. It had no fixtures in the bathroom or appliances in the kitchen. It was all one room, like a studio apartment, something the guy had built to bring his mistresses to for a weekend in the fall when the fireplace made things cozy. The fireplace was there, but with no mantel and without the expensive tile meant to cover it. This was where Emma met with the boy who was trying to sell her a chance with Stace.

"Finally," he said, rising from a cross-legged position on the floor in the corner when Emma entered. "You know I hate it when you're late."

"Shove it," she huffed. "I'm not late." She held up her wristwatch in illustration.

"Your watch is off. Look where the sunlight is hitting the wall as it sets."

Emma stared at him as he launched into a lengthy explanation of where the light would fall at what times of day as the summer waned and changed to fall, and at what point he expected her to show up here on Tuesdays. What was he even talking about?

"What the hell are you, an astronomer? Are you going to forecast the future from the stars next?"

He scowled at her with real threat on his face, stepping away from the wall and toward her. She refused to take a step back, not even if he did intimidate her. Just a little bit. He didn't fit in at Greenwood Prep, either, and the chip on his shoulder was twice the size of hers. This whole thing had been his idea. Emma didn't really like what was happening anymore, while he was loving it. She wasn't sure anymore that she would have agreed to this if she'd known how things would be.

"Here," he said, holding out a shoulder bag that clinked with tiny glass bottles. "This week's supply."

She took it from him with a shudder of loathing and handed over his cut of last week's money. She never tried to skim off the top. "Why won't you just sell this yourself?"

"I've told you a thousand times, Emma. I don't want to be connected to this. I can't afford it while I'm already under surveillance for being a juvenile delinquent. Also," he grinned wolfishly, "even if you get caught, this doesn't have to end."

Emma already knew she was little more than a scapegoat to him. She just didn't like not knowing what this stuff was. He cooked it up and used her as his frontman without really explaining what it was. Emma didn't use it. She wouldn't ingest anything that didn't come with a list of ingredients. Still, at least she knew his motives, and knew she could trust them. He hated the kids at Greenwood Prep even more than she did, and he wanted to see them all in ruins. Red-Hot was well on its way to accomplishing that. So long as they didn't get caught, the students were going to destroy themselves. Emma had been watching her classmates slowly succumb to the addiction, feeling great and whistling a cheerful tune on their way to hell. She was starting to feel very disenchanted with this idea. She hadn't pictured it this way. When she thought of slow decay, it was their rotting corpses she saw, not this living death borne out with smiles and ruthless enthusiasm.

"What had better end, and soon," she said with slightly more force than necessary, "is this game you're trying to pull with me. I'm getting sick of you not keeping your end of the agreement."

He glared at her. "You're getting paid well enough."

"I don't need money."

"I'm working on it, Warcheski. Okay?"

"Work harder. What you're doing isn't going to work anyway."  
"Why not?"

"Because Adam and Stace aren't even friends anymore. You can't get to Stace through him." She smiled. "You know why they fought? It was over that slut Autumn. Stace won't be able to hold on to a relationship that started out so negatively. In a few more weeks, he'll be single again, and you'd better have prepared him for a new girlfriend."

"I can handle it, Warcheski. You just do your job and sell this."

"Oh, yes, sir, my master. God, you're such a chauvinistic pig."

The huffing was all she could do, except start a sketch of him plastered to the hood of Stace's car.

* * *

Emma was doing her job and selling. She'd figured, back at the beginning, that it would be best to use a couple of others to make most of the sales and bring the money back to her. The fewer people who knew that she was the "supplier," the better. It worked fairly well, she had three others she gave the drug to, and since they all thought she was the one manufacturing Red-Hot, they were afraid of her and always brought the money back. It certainly wasn't smart for them to talk about their involvement, so Emma wasn't worried about being caught. Not with two of the three, anyway. The third . . . that had been an accident. The girl was crazy, and she'd followed Emma to a meeting with one of her other distributors. Emma had to bring her in or she would have been sold out long ago.

"Come on, let me have it," Flip said, holding out her hand impatiently.

"Where's the money from last week?"

Flip rolled her eyes, sighed huffily, and pulled the wad of cash out of her bra. Emma rolled her eyes in response, but accepted the money and put it in her bag. She didn't give Flip her division of the week's supply yet, though.

"Flip. How much of this are you using?"

Flip scowled and crossed her arms, looking as offended as if Emma had actually accused her of stealing.

"The money's all there, Warcheski."

"That's not what I asked, Flip. I asked how much you're using."

Flip shrugged. "Vial in the morning, one in the afternoon. Sometimes I take one late if I can't sleep anyway."

"God almighty," Emma said. "One every two days is good enough, remember?"

Flip laughed with that shrill tone she used when she was trying to sound haughty. The attempt usually failed. "No one's doing _that_ anymore. Are you _joking_? Everybody's doing at _least_ one a day."

Emma frowned, her fist clutching on the bag full of Flip's supply. "But you don't even have enough to sell that much."

"I know," Flip said, and her mood was suddenly angry. Emma didn't let that bother her, she was used to sudden mood swings with Flip. "Look at this!" She rolled up her sleeve to reveal black marks. Emma felt sick. It looked like fingerprints. Someone had grabbed her arm hard enough to leave bruises. "It was that kid Michael Verona. I didn't have any when he came looking to buy, and you know we're not supposed to talk about who else sells."

Emma was frightened, and she suddenly wanted nothing more than to back out of this business right now. There was another way to get to Stace. This drug wasn't it. And Flip . . .

"Look, maybe you ought to—"

"What, you think I should have _told_ him? You said you'd _kill_ me if I said anything!" Flip wailed. Emma had intimidated her three sellers by showing them particularly gruesome drawings of what she would do to them if they said anything about her or each other.

"No. I think maybe I should find someone else to sell. I didn't—" Emma stopped herself from finishing that sentence. Maybe she hadn't wanted anyone to get hurt like this, but she couldn't say that. "I didn't want you as one of my sellers to begin with, remember?"

Flip's eyes were hurt, and Emma felt angry and impatient. She and Flip weren't friends, did Flip think they were?

"But I've been doing a good job for you, haven't I?" Flip asked in a small voice.

The truth was, she had. If Flip knew anything, it was the price of information. Give any up, and Emma would come after her—and Flip didn't know that Emma wasn't as much of a threat as she pretended to be. She wouldn't give that information away unless the reward was worth what she imagined Emma would do to her. The only thing that really worried Emma was Flip's little problem with nymphomania. If she could get the right guy to sleep with her, she might spill something, if he asked for it. Of course, no one in this school would sleep with her, or admit to having done so, anyway. Emma was pretty sure that Flip was not actually a virgin, but no one knew _who_ she had slept with. Flip wouldn't tell, saying that it was privileged information and it was worth a price. This was why Emma had trusted her, she was good with secrets, but it was a very uneasy situation.

"Whatever, Flip. Just don't come crying to me when you get the shit kicked out of you by some junkie."

"Give me a bigger supply and I won't have that problem."

"Fine. Next week it'll be more. Just make sure you sell all of it. This stuff doesn't keep forever, you know."

"You'd better be nice to me, Warcheski," Flip said, suddenly looking sly. She also looked sort of seductive, which put Emma very on-guard. Flip had come onto her before now. "I know your secrets, and that means I own you."

Emma forced herself to laugh. "You know what I would do to you for talking? I can show you, if you like."

Flip smiled, and she looked like some kind of crazy sixteen-year-old temptress. Well, that's what she tried to be, so it was working. "If I tell the right people, they'll protect me."

"Who are you talking about? The police?" Emma tried her best to look mocking instead of like fear was stealing her breath.

"No. Not necessarily. There is a teacher I want, though."

"So what, the teacher has sex with you and you tell him everything?"

"Now you've got the idea," Flip smiled. "Only he has to promise to keep me safe, too."

"May I ask which teacher this is?"

"No!" Flip shouted, her anger bursting out. Emma blinked but stood fast.

"How's your therapy going, Flip?"

The girl looked like Emma had slapped her. "How dare you talk to me, Warcheski? You're not anybody! I don't have to answer that question!"

Her face was red with anger and she was practically hopping up and down. Her parents were rich and sent her into New York City for professional therapy once a month. Everyone knew it. Obviously it didn't work so well, but maybe she would be getting better if she wasn't a Red-Hot addict.

"Fine, Flip. Just a question," Emma said coolly. She handed over the bag at last. "See you next week." As Flip started to leave, Emma said, "Oh, and Flip? Remember this, would you? If you talk, not even your teacher will keep you safe."

Flip's eyes widened and she darted away with the bag clinking softly.


	14. Chapter 13: The RedHot Truth

Chapter Thirteen

The Red-Hot Truth

"This is nice for me, actually," Hank said in response to Harry's comment that he must feel like he was bringing work home with him. "I don't have too many friends in this town."

They were having dinner with Hank and Cristina again, talking over what Drew and Jamie had learned so far. Which was, basically, not a damn thing. The kids were obviously on drugs, but they couldn't exactly tie them down and forcibly remove a blood sample. Draco was all for it, actually, but he didn't want to touch off the apocalypse.

"I guess most of the adults in this town are quite a bit older than you, aren't they?" Ginny said.

"There is that," Hank agreed. "But we have a caste system here, too. And I'm a Latino from a poor, inner-city background. You think the parents of my kids want to talk about gang violence at the dinner table?"

They all frowned at that, feeling uncomfortable, but it was also why they all liked Hank so much. He didn't exactly avoid the truth.

"Hank, I have to ask: why are you staying at this school?" Draco knew the question was blunt, but Hank usually appreciated that kind of thing. He glanced at his wife, who was pushing food around her plate without eating any of it. She didn't enjoy this kind of conversation.

Hank shrugged, and looked a little embarrassed. "I guess I'm hoping I'll make a difference," he said. The smile he had when he looked up from his plate was bitter. "These kids need to have their eyes opened, and I thought I could do that. Just by being different. But the longer I've been here, the more I realize that the kids have plenty of differences already, they don't lack for diversity. They just don't talk about it."

"What do you mean?" Ginny asked.

Harry and Draco had begun to see the same thing. It was Harry that answered.

"Well, there's the kids like Stace Law and Mike Verona. Extremely privileged kids who are doing exactly what's expected of them. Then there's the kids like Courtney Ware—" Draco shuddered a little, drawing a worried glance from Vianne "—who are just as privileged but have too many problems to do what's expected of them. Then you have kids that are content to be mediocre, never get noticed for achievement or failure. Then you have kids like Emma Warcheski, that creepy girl obsessed with death. You met her, Jamie?" Draco shook his head. Emma took German, but he'd seen her locker. "She's from a completely normal background. Then there's kids like Landon Halsbeck."

Ginny frowned when Harry didn't continue. "What about Landon Halsbeck? Who's that?"

"He's a foster kid whose guardians wanted to give him a chance most kids tossed around in the system don't get. But it really backfired. There was another kid who had foster parents like that, and the two of them were best friends. Landon would probably be on track with kids like Stace, but he and this kid Shawn bonded together against the world that wasn't 'like them.' Apparently Shawn got very depressed by the way he was treated at the school, and he committed suicide."

Hank shook his head slowly. "That was how I came to work here. They ran my predecessor out of town for not preventing it." He scowled at the remains of his meal. "They acted shocked and upset, but I doubt a single one of them really cared that he was gone. Except Landon. I . . . there's not much I can do for Landon. He's retreated too much."

"He's been spending a lot of time with Jim Phillips' son," Draco objected.

"Oh, that's right," Hank recalled, but he kept frowning. "Jim's really worried about Adam. We all get the impression that Landon's dragging Adam down, not that Adam's doing anything to help Landon."

"But they were friends before Shawn moved into town, weren't they?" Draco asked. "The kids told me. I thought Adam sort of went back to Landon because he lost his friendship with Stace." Then he rubbed his temples. "Damn. Adam's a drug addict and Landon _isn't_."

"You just got to what I've been thinking," Harry guessed grimly.

Draco stared at Harry. "It's Landon. He's the supplier."

"Which means he's . . . um, someone Peter would be interested in," Harry said cautiously.

Hank let out an exasperated breath. "If you've arrived at some conclusion you need to talk about, feel free. You can't talk about it in front of me?"

"No, we can't," Harry said slowly.

"Why didn't you say anything sooner?" Draco demanded of Harry.

"I didn't want to influence your opinion. I wanted to see if you would get there on your own."

Hank sighed, and he looked weary. "You don't think . . . If Landon is the engineer behind all this, that means he killed Tim Farella."

"Likely," Harry agreed.

"It's retaliation," Draco said with assurance. "He's getting them all back for what happened to Shawn Randall."

Harry stood up, grabbed Draco by the arm, and dragged him from his chair. "Come here."

"Sorry," Draco murmured, letting his fingers skim over Vianne's shoulder as Harry yanked him away.

They stepped into the kitchen, and spoke in whispering voices.

"Landon's a wizard," Harry said.

"It's looking that way."

"Haven't you heard the story? They never found Shawn's body. Just the suicide note."

"No way . . ." Draco breathed out. "You think he saw something Landon didn't mean for him to see? Saw him doing magic of some kind?"

Harry nodded soberly.

"Landon killed Shawn, just like he killed Tim."

"I think so."

"We need to call Peter, and Chris. We need to end this right now."

"No," Harry said immediately. "This isn't evidence. We have to catch him. And anyone he's working with."

"What are you suggesting?"

"He's just a kid. I can probably follow him one day and come up with some real evidence."

"Still, let's fill Peter and Chris in. They need to know."

"Well, of course," Harry said, sounding surprised. "They're on the team."

"All right. We'll talk when Hank and Cristina go home."

They returned to the table to find Ginny and Vianne clearing the dishes, chatting with Hank of more inconsequential things. Draco frowned. His wife was abnormally pale and she'd hardly said a word all night. She'd only gotten here this afternoon, and he hadn't had a chance to ask her if she was feeling all right. She never got sick, so he didn't like this.

"I'll get this," he said, picking up the plate she was reaching for. "Why don't you just relax?"

Vianne acquiesced gracefully, but there was a pinched expression on her face.

There was a shriek, and Cristina ran into the room screaming like the hounds of hell were behind her. It was Sirius, which was close enough.

"He pulled my hair!" she wailed in a voice that could have doubled as a fire alarm.

"I'm _not_ your boyfriend!" Crash cried triumphantly, skidding to a stop as she reached the safety of her father's arms.

"Sirius James . . . Edwards!" Ginny bellowed, covering her falter on the last name by stamping her foot. "You do _not_ pull people's hair!"

Charley, who had been on the heels of the other two, veered off from her mother to her father. Harry caught her.

"He does, too," she objected. "He just _did_."

Draco tried not to laugh, he really did, but the snort that escaped him was too loud to be ignored. Ginny spun on him with fire in her eyes. He immediately cast his eyes down, and he and Vianne hurriedly took the dishes into the kitchen. His shoulders shook with silent laughter.

Cristina was not actually crying, she was just making wailing noises to invoke sympathy. "I didn't want to be your girlfriend anyway!" she shouted, massaging her violated scalp.

"You _kissed_ me!" Sirius bellowed.

"I hate these messy breakups," Draco whispered, and Vianne giggled.

"So what?" Cristina yelled back, jumping back down from Hank's arms. "That doesn't mean anything! I hate you!"

"I hate you, too!" he yelled back. "You're crazy!"

"You're a bad kisser!"

Crash reeled back from that, and his eyes were shocked and hurt. Draco bit his lip so hard he almost drew blood. This was the most entertaining thing he'd seen in months, but he felt bad for Harry. Harry was going to have to sit down and have a talk with Sirius about girls, not to mention the relative kissing skill an eight-year-old ought to be worried about.

"_¡Yo he tenido bastante, Cristina!_" Hank snapped, grabbing her by the arm.

"Ow!" she squealed. He released her, but fixed her with a look that kept her in place.

"We talked about this behavior, didn't we? We are going home." He looked at Harry and Ginny and shrugged helplessly. "I'm very sorry."

"So are we," Ginny said grimly. "Before you go . . . Sirius, you will apologize for pulling her hair. You know better."

"I'm sorry for pulling your hair," Sirius said immediately, in a tone that made it obvious he was only sorry he hadn't come up with a better plan.

"And you will apologize for being such a hellion," Hank said to his daughter.

"What's a hellion?"

"Apologize for trying to make him your boyfriend when he didn't want to be," Hank amended, suddenly sounding a bit amused.

"I'm sorry for _that_," Cristina said fervently, giving Crash a look that should have incinerated him on the spot.

"I apologize again," Hank said, taking his daughter's hand. "Thank you for having us over." He squeezed Cristina's hand.

"Thank you," she said dutifully, looking at the floor.

"Thanks for coming, Hank," Harry said. "We'll see you later. I'm sorry about this."

"Kids will be kids, hmm?" Hank said, and his eyes flashed with humour. Suddenly he started chuckling. "I never thought I'd see her mother again," he snorted, "but here she is!"

Cristina scowled while her father had a laugh at her expense. The tense mood was broken, though, and they all chuckled a little while Hank and Cristina finally made their way out the door.

Draco and Ginny finished clearing up the dishes while Vianne played with Charley and Harry took Sirius into his room for a little chat. When they'd gotten the dishes into the dishwasher—an invention Ginny was fervently wishing could be installed into Grimmauld Place—Ginny took Charley from Vianne for a bath, leaving the newlyweds alone at last. This summer was turning out to be hard on them, and they were only a few weeks into it.

"The carpet we picked out for the dining room isn't available anymore," Vianne said quietly, toying with the hem of her shirt. "I brought pictures of some oth—" Her mouth was claimed. "Mmm."

"I've missed you," Draco mumbled against her mouth, not even willing to break the contact of their lips.

She kissed him agreeably, but it was obvious the kiss was doing little for her. He pulled back with worry.

"What's wrong?"

"Nothing, I'm just tired," she assured him.

"You're sure?" he asked, his hand reaching out to stroke her hair, as if that would reassure him that she was all right.

"Yes, I'm sure. Is it too early to go to bed?"

Draco shrugged. "As long as I can read for a bit. I want to brush up on a couple of things I need to teach my advanced students. I haven't spoken French in a long time."

"_Pourquoi, mon amour?_" Vianne asked with a soft smile.

"You speak French?"

"Mmm-hmm."

"Wonderful. You can help me practice."

"Who says I want to?"

"French is very romantic," Draco said, and he brushed a light kiss over her cheek. "When you've gotten some rest, you'll appreciate it a lot more."

"I dare say."

He pulled her up off the sofa in the living room and started leading her to the bedroom where he was staying. They met Ginny in the hallway with Charley, wrapped in a towel, in her arms. Charley's wet red hair was everywhere, as was Ginny's. Bathtime was quite hazardous in the Potter household.

"You two going to bed already?" Ginny said, wiggling her eyebrows suggestively.

Draco groaned. "You think I'm actually going to do that ten feet from your kids?"

"Do what, Uncle Jamie?" Charley piped up.

Draco snorted as he saw the warning look on Ginny's face. "Nothing, Miss Charley."

Vianne gave his arm a little squeeze. "I'm just feeling a little tired," she answered Ginny. "I'll feel better after I get some sleep."

"If you're still feeling tired in the morning, I'll give you some Pepper-Up," Ginny said.

"That works better on kids."

"Not the one I modified for Harry when he's on a big case and refuses to rest."

Vianne smiled. "That was quite brave of you to put together. But I'm sure I'll be fine, thank you. Come on, Draco, let's go to bed." He was frozen, his face white, staring at Ginny. "Draco?" She gave his arm an experimental tug.

"Pepper-Up," he muttered. "Modified."

"That's what I said," Ginny agreed, involuntarily holding Charley, who'd gone uncharacteristically quiet, against her.

"No way. That is way too easy."

"Um . . ."

"_Way_ too easy."

"Draco, what the hell?" Ginny asked, seeing how upset Vianne was becoming as her husband continued to act like a crazy person.

"Shit!" he exploded. "I've got to work. Vianne, I'm sorry, I'll be . . . just get some sleep. Merlin!"

Harry poked his head out of Crash's room. "What's going on?"

"Harry, I've got it," Draco said with a manic glint in his eye, bouncing on his toes like a little boy forced to wait in line at an amusement park. "I'll be in the garden shed." This was where they had set up his Potions supplies so he could experiment when they finally got a sample. "I've got it."

Then he ran, slamming the back door so loudly that Charley jumped in Ginny's arms. The rest of them stared at each other.

"What's he talking about?" Harry asked.

"I just said I wanted to give Vianne one of my modified Pepper-Up Potions," Ginny shrugged. "Then he went all 'Malfoy' on us."

"Pepper-Up?" Harry asked with wide eyes. "No _way_!"

He chased Draco out the back door. Vianne looked at Ginny with worry.

"I think they've stumbled onto the solution to this mess," Ginny said, offering her a smile. "Let me put Charley and Sirius to bed, then we can make some tea for them. They'll probably be up pretty late."

Vianne sighed, wringing her hands.

"I have chamomile, if you want something to help you sleep."

"No . . . I'll wait up for him."

Ginny nodded. "Earl Grey, then."

"All right."

- - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - -

"This would counter the tendency toward steaming ears," Draco muttered. "But I've never seen the effects on a Muggle before to know whether or not they would experience that symptom."

Harry looked haggard in the dim light of the garden shed, tired and distracted. Draco didn't notice.

"Hand me the square green bottle with the gold lid. Behind you," he said, never looking up from his smoking cauldron. He'd figured out three hours ago that it did no good to ask for the ingredient he wanted by name; Harry stared uselessly at his traveling rack and asked which one, again? He was pretty good at finding "the clear bottle with the silver etching on the rim," though. Draco couldn't take his eyes off his work, afraid he would lose his focus if he moved.

He was getting it. He knew it. He was going to have recreated this drug without ever seeing a decent sample. There was just one thing eluding him . . . He thought he knew what it was, but he was denying it in his mind while he worked on the rest.

"Hand me the clear bottle with the golden liquid. Big and round."

The glass was pressed into his hand, but Harry held it there.

"Draco, why are you carrying around Felix Felicitas?"

"To dose us when we close in on Landon to arrest him," Draco murmured, squinting. How much to add? The amount was very important, but he knew this must be the source of that giddy feeling of well-being the strung-out kids were exhibiting. He tipped a bit in, pulling it up sharply and tossing it aside. It felt right. Everything felt right. The only thing missing . . .

"Dark purple bottle. Small."

"The one with the black lid and the little warning you stuck on it that says not to touch it on pain of death?"

"Yes, that one."

"What is it?" Harry asked, handing it to him.

"It's a form of opium," he sighed, tipping some in.

"Opium?" Harry squawked.

"Yes."

Draco let the potion he'd created stew for a minute.

"Does that mean . . ."

"It means the kids are drinking a really energizing form of heroin," Draco said baldly, sitting back. "Move, I'm dumping this out."

"You're . . . why?"

"I want to see if the residue matches that vial from Kendall's locker."

"But all this potion . . ."

"Merlin, Harry, did you think I was going to bottle it up to use later? If I'm wrong, this is all a waste anyway. If I'm right, I don't need this in front of me to create something for Kendall."

"Okay, just seems wrong to dump something this expensive out."

"Harry." Draco looked him in the eye sharply, his face grim. "Do you have any idea how addictive this is?"

"I can guess."

"No, you can't. I barely understand it, and I know a little something about drug addiction. I'm getting rid of it right now."

"Okay," Harry agreed, startled.

"Harry, if I've made this right . . . these kids will skin us alive before they'll give it up. _They'll_ be skinned alive before that." He shook his head. "This is going to go wrong, badly wrong. A normal human's body can't take so much of this, not like a wizard's can. No wonder Kendall can't wake up, she wasn't meant to process these substances, her body's still trying to catch up . . ." He gripped the edge of the table, shocked by what he'd managed to recreate.

Harry sucked in a breath. "Can you do anything?"

"I can try." He stared at the mess he was making of this folding table. "I have to try." He slumped in his seat even as he brought out his wand to levitate the cauldron to dump it in the floor-level sink in the corner of the shed—probably for watering plants, but it would work just as well to dispose of toxic waste. "I have to try," he whispered, considering everything that lay before them, and wondering how Landon could be this cruel and destructive to his own classmates.

Harry's hand fell on his shoulder. "Not alone, you don't," he said quietly.

"I . . ."

"We're still brothers, right?"

Draco allowed himself to feel comforted by that. When he thought about it for a moment, he couldn't help but be comforted. "Right."

- - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - -

_Crash and Cristina break up, Vianne's acting weird, AND Red-Hot turns out to be really horrible. At least I let them figure out the culprit, I'm not a total jerk, right?_

_Reviews! You know you want to give me reviews!_


	15. Chapter 14: Withdrawing and Coming Near

Chapter Fourteen

Withdrawing and Coming Near

Andrew and Karen Steen were holding hands and looking extraordinarily unconvinced, even though he'd come prepared and shown them the proof of a medical degree (which they didn't know had been made up for him). Andrew's mouth was opening and closing every few seconds like he wanted to say something but couldn't get the sound out. Karen's hands were clearly trembling. Kendall Steen's doctor, a man whom they didn't know had been clued in far too much already, stood to the side with his arms behind his back, scowling. He'd been allowed to test the liquid and found nothing but more of the results he'd seen from the vial they'd found in Kendall's locker. Their only real confidence was that no one would be stupid enough to show up with a miracle cure and a range of identification if he meant to harm the girl.

A man of unassuming height and a good build stood with his arms crossed over his chest beside the doctor. They honestly thought he'd come just to keep them from interfering while the taller, more slender man did what he'd come for. It had taken two hours of argument before they'd allowed this, even after the test results had come back. But really . . . anything to wake her up. Anything. The arguments they'd made stemmed from the fear that it would only make things worse.

Kendall had been sleeping and waking and falling back to sleep for several weeks. Andrew and Karen were tired and sick and despairing. They didn't understand the situation fully yet, but maybe they could find out more after they saw Kendall's eyes open and clear and aware of her surroundings. It had become more than Karen could handle to watch Kendall wake up and mutter to herself and lose consciousness within moments. The explanation for these symptoms was still forthcoming, but the cure for it was in the hand of the very disturbing man currently leaning over their daughter.

His hands were so gentle as he tilted her head back on the pillow and tipped the container he carried into her mouth. His one eye was sharp with alertness as he dropped the vial and carefully plugged her nose. She was awake right now, but incoherent and unable to speak, and she'd be unconscious again within a minute. She swallowed reflexively. They waited.

They waited with their hearts pounding so hard that it hurt. They waited with their hands, clasped together, sweating and white with tension. They waited with fear clawing at their minds, fear that this wouldn't work, fear of these unusual men.

They waited.

Kendall's eyes fixed on the face hovering over her. It was a startling face, but the expression on it was so kind that no one thought she'd be frightened. He was still cupping the back of her head, her limp blond hair spilling over his hand. Her back arched with sudden tension, and her pupils shrank. He hunched closer over her with a jerk of quick movement, still cradling her head with one hand and with the other now pressing on her shoulder to keep her still. Karen cried out and Andrew squeezed her hand so tightly that they both lost feeling in their fingers for a moment. The better-built man uncrossed his arms, ready to step in and keep them held back.

Kendall relaxed, but not with the sudden collapse that had taken her awareness so many times over the last few weeks. Her body lowered itself back onto the bed, and her breath trembled as she inhaled deeply. Her eyes locked in on the face of the blond man holding her so carefully.

"Hello, Kendall," he said in a low, cultured voice. "My name is Jamie. You're in the hospital right now, but you're going to be okay. Can you tell me how you feel?"

She frowned, and her eyes were horribly confused. Karen slipped her sweaty hand from Andrew's and rushed forward, but she stopped when Kendall opened her mouth to speak. The miracle of hearing her voice was too precious to interrupt.

"Why am I in England?" she whispered, her voice hoarse from lack of use.

"Jamie," or Dr. Edwards as they'd been introduced to him, chuckled as he slipped her head back down to the pillow and straightened himself up. Karen clutched Andrew's hand, which he'd just placed on her shoulder. Was she really awake now? Had it worked?

"You're not, sweetie. You're still in New York. I came here from England because I heard you needed some help."

"I . . . I don't remember what happened. How long have I—" She was trying to sit up, but her voice cut off abruptly and her body went limp. Dr. Edwards caught her before she could tip off the bed, and lowered her back down.

"Easy, easy. You've been off and on for several weeks now."

"_Weeks_?" she repeated in dismay. "How could that happen?"

"You overdosed, sweetie. Do you remember being in your history class and passing out?"

Her eyes widened a little. "I felt really bad. I felt . . ." She jerked upright, sitting up with a flare of thrown-back sheets and a cry of panic. "Tim! Where is he?"

No one answered right away.

"Where is he, where's Tim? My boyfriend, where is Tim, _please_ tell me."

The blond man took a deep breath and let it out slowly. "Kendall, we can't find Tim." Her face twitched as she took that in. "We don't know, but we think—"

"Oh, God, he's _dead_!" she wailed, her face crumpling up. "Something happened to him, and he's dead, isn't he?" She started to fall again, and this time when the doctor laid her back down, he put his hand on her shoulder to keep her from sitting up again.

"Kendall, I need you to listen for a minute, okay?"

She sobbed.

"I know that this news about Tim is hard, but I need to tell you about yourself, all right?"

She nodded, her eyes closed against the pain.

"The drug you were taking was extremely harmful. You could have died. Your body wasn't meant to handle what you put into it, and you might experience the effects of it for a long time. It was also very, very addictive. I think part of the reason you've been like this for the past few weeks was that your body was trying to retreat from the withdrawal you are experiencing. It will take some work before you really recover from this. I don't want to scare you, because I think we can handle this, I just want you to know what's going on. Okay?"

Kendall was gasping for breath as she tried to accept that Tim hadn't returned, and pay attention to what she was being told at the same time. "I . . . what have I done?" she whispered. "Oh, God, what did I do?"

"Kendall, listen to me. I understand what happened. I understand how hard it was to deal with what happened to Tim. So nobody's here to blame you, we just want to help."

She finally seemed to realize that there were other people in the room. She looked over and saw her parents watching, on edge.

"Mom, Dad." Her eyes scanned the room to see the other two unfamiliar men here. She frowned, and refocused on the man in front of her. "Who _are_ you?"

"I told you, my name is Jamie. I'm a scientist, and I came here to find a way to help you, because the hospital didn't know how to combat the drug you were taking."

"Red-Hot."

"What?"

"They call it Red-Hot. The drug. I guess because it makes you feel so hot. I don't know what it is, though."

"That's okay, I figured it out."

"Oh." Kendall was starting to look exhausted. "He's a doctor, obviously," she said, looking at her doctor standing to one side with his proverbial white coat and stethoscope, plus a pinched, displeased expression. "Who's he?" she asked, looking at the other man.

"That's my brother."

"Is he a scientist?"

"No, he's a cop."

Kendall's eyes flew wide again, though they'd started to droop from sleepiness. "Am I being arrested?"

"No, you're not. He just came to help explain things to your parents. You see, no one has been able to understand what's been happening at your school, so my brother Drew and I were hired to work undercover at Greenwood as substitute teachers to help the police here."

Kendall looked impressed, and she looked at Drew Edwards much more closely. "You're a real undercover cop?"

"Sometimes," the man answered in a dry tone. "Sometimes I get stuck playing backup to the scientist."

Kendall started to giggle, mostly out of exhaustion, and it died quickly. She finally spoke to Karen and Andrew, looking at them with uncertainty.

"I'm sorry," she said softly. "I'm so sorry. I don't know what to say . . ."

"Oh, Kendall," Karen said, rushing forward, at her side and one hand cupping her pale cheek in the blink of an eye. "You don't know how amazing it is just to hear you talking. You don't have to say anything. It's okay."

Andrew was there, too, and he clutched Kendall's hand. He didn't even notice that Dr. Edwards had jumped back to make room for him, and was now slipping toward the door, dragging his brother by the arm.

"Honey, we were so worried. We love you so much."

The Edwards brothers silently exited just as all three of the Steens began to cry.

* * *

"Hey, how are you feeling?" Jamie asked Kendall as she came into his classroom.

"I'm okay," she said cautiously, but her face and body language said otherwise, and she knew it was obvious.

"It's hitting you pretty hard today?" he guessed. She nodded. "You talked to your parents?"

"Yeah, they both drove me down here, they just stopped in the office to talk to Principal Rosado for a minute."

Kendall had been revived for a week, but the Red-Hot was still affecting her seriously, and she hadn't been back to school yet. It was embarrassing, really, since her parents were hovering and smothering, and all she really wanted to do was curl up and cry her eyes out. She missed Tim. She missed him so bad. And she missed the drug. But that stuff was so wrong, she wouldn't touch it again. Not ever. Dr. Edwards—he'd said she could call him Jamie—had promised to work out something that would help, and he'd called her parents today to say he'd come up with a treatment of some kind to help with the cravings. She didn't know why she trusted Jamie, but she did. Maybe it was just that he'd been the first thing she'd seen when she woke up. Maybe it was how honest he'd been with her. Maybe it was just thrilling to be involved in undercover work with the two English brothers. They were considering keeping her out of school and having her do her work at home so that she couldn't tell her classmates anything, but Kendall didn't want to. She wanted to help them find the person who'd done this.

That was the most frustrating thing. Tim had gotten her a bunch of Red-Hot, and she'd never thought to ask him where he'd gotten it. They'd tried it once, she'd liked it, so he'd gotten her a bunch more. Of course, what he'd gotten was meant to last three weeks, not three days. She couldn't tell them who was supplying this shit to her friends. She knew they were all on it, it was so obvious. But the adults had decided it was best to wait until they could pinpoint the supplier, not to go after individual users. The users would lie about where they'd gotten it, anyway. Kendall wished she could help more, but the only thing she could do was come back to school and hope her time away hadn't made her untrustworthy in the eyes of the other students. She wanted to be the one to figure out who it was.

She owed it to Tim. Whoever was responsible for Red-Hot had killed him. She was sure of that. She just didn't know why. She didn't know what had happened, but she meant to find out, and bring the murderer to justice. Every time she thought of that, thought _my God, someone murdered him_, she got angry. How could they take away the love of her life? She'd wanted to _marry_ him. And now all she could do was help the police find the person who'd killed him. It was hard to wrap her head around. Especially when her head wouldn't stop pounding with pain most of the time.

"So, does this stuff you made have any painkillers in it?"

Jamie's eyes were calm, but she saw his nostrils flare as he took a deep breath. "No, it doesn't. It's something to help break the addiction, not compound it with another one."

"Sorry," she muttered.

He smiled. "No, I'm sorry. It's been a very stressful week. But I think we've arrived at a solution for you, so things are looking up. If this works, I'm going to make sure the rest of the school knows it's available."

"I'm your guinea pig for your experiments, huh?"

"No, I didn't mean—"

She laughed, probably for the first time in a month. "I know. I'm glad to help. I hope this works, and not just for me. I'll bet a bunch of other kids are . . . trapped, right now. I bet that some of them want help."

Jamie smiled, looking surprised. "I hope so. Thank you, Kendall."

Her parents came in and her mother put an arm around her waist. She made a face. The woman hadn't stopped touching her, like she couldn't believe Kendall was actually walking around.

"So what is this stuff?" Karen asked immediately, her husband standing beside her with a scowl. They were still suspicious about Jamie, even though he'd been so helpful this whole time. It was probably the eyepatch. What kind of freak would walk around wearing an eyepatch? He'd said he'd been stabbed during a mugging, which sounded very adventurous for a nerdy scientist—not that he was nerdy, but still. It was something that Kendall would have expected from his brother, whom she'd only seen for a minute in her hospital room.

"It's a treatment for the addiction," Jamie answered calmly.

"What's in it?"

"Several things with meaningless names. It contains a muscle relaxant, to help with the pain a little. There are natural ingredients to boost energy in a very mild way, so that her body can rebuild its stamina slowly instead of trying to cope completely on its own after such a massive overload of energy."

Her dad spoke up. "Dr. Edwards, I don't want my daughter taking anything that hasn't been approved through the proper channels. I don't know who you think you are, but—"

"Dad, haven't you figured it out?" Kendall snapped, slipping out of her mother's possessive embrace. "There's nobody who can approve it, because this whole thing is brand-new. They have to track down the person who started it because whoever did has come up with some new way of manufacturing drugs and they can't afford to have him invent anything else. There hasn't been time for official approvals. And I need help _now_."

They were both staring at her in shock.

"I'm awake," Kendall said firmly. "And I'm going to stay that way, thanks to him. I'm going to use his treatment."

She spun around to face Jamie, who looked like he was choking on something. "Aren't there a bunch of disclaimers they should sign or something?"

He opened a portfolio notebook and shoved them across the desk he was using as his own. "These are them. Look them over, then I'd like to have Hank act as a witness. His secretary is a notary."

"You realize that if anything goes wrong, these papers won't keep you from being put away for the rest of your life?" her father asked softly. Kendall felt goosebumps on her arms. Her father had never seemed threatening once in her life until this moment.

"I'm aware of that, but it's better to have some semblance of organization, isn't it?"

"Who are you?" her mother blurted out, and she stepped into her husband's side, his arm sliding around her protectively. "Who in hell are you?"

"As I keep telling you, I'm a scientist. A damn good one, actually."

They didn't look any happier. And this after he'd already done so much to help her. Kendall was disgusted.

"Oh, get over it, you guys," she said sharply. Her bad humour was probably the result of how bad she felt physically, but she'd been trying really hard to avoid thinking about the fact that she was a recovering drug addict. "Can I take it already?"

There was a noise behind them, and the whole family spun to see who it was. Kendall greeted Edward with a wave of her hand and the brightest smile she could muster, which wasn't that bright, all things considered. He just looked confused, and worried. He was signing, but she didn't know any sign language. He tried to say something, but it was just a strange nasal sound that she didn't understand. Jamie was getting up, and he said as he was coming around the desk,

"He just wants to know if you're all right."

"Oh," she said, and her smile came out better this time as she faced him directly. "Yes, I'm doing a lot better, thank you. Jamie's helped me a lot, he's really great."

She knew she didn't need to shout at him, just enunciate clearly, and they'd become decent enough friends just because he appreciated that so much. A bunch of idiots thought if they yelled loud enough, he'd hear them, but it just pissed him off.

He smiled, and patted her arm, and signed something while looking at Jamie. She figured he was agreeing that the man was great. Jamie's face became embarrassed.

"If I were to tell you what he was saying, I would consider it bragging, so I won't."

Edward made a face at him, but he was just joking. It was obvious he and Jamie were getting along, probably because Jamie could talk to him so easily. Kendall was glad. Edward didn't have many friends, even she wasn't that close to him. At least she'd never picked up the habit of calling him Dumb Eddie.

Kendall cautiously looked at her parents from the corner of her eye. They looked worlds better. They knew Edward, and apparently his vote of confidence meant more to them than their own daughter's did. Her mother had at one time held the opinion that Kendall should date Edward, but that had only been because she didn't approve of Tim and started grasping at straws. Kendall knew her mother didn't really want her daughter to be with a deaf guy, and Kendall wasn't interested anyway. Edward could have been really hot, if he wasn't so shy and clean cut, she'd said. Unfortunately for him, she was already wildly in love with someone else. Someone who . . . who was dead now.

She knew she'd started crying, because everything looked blurry. Her face was numb with how thick her grief was. She moved to Edward as the only person in the room that she thought might have any inkling of how much Tim had meant to her, since he'd seen them together every day for so long. Edward looked stunned, but hugged her cautiously, making shushing noises with his cheek pressed against her hair.

"I don't feel good," she moaned, all the stresses of her body overwhelming her in one instant. She still had very little energy, and she'd used it all up. When her legs buckled, Edward proved to be much stronger than his thin frame implied. He held onto her and kept her from falling until her dad could get her into his arms.

"Okay," she heard her mother say, the voice sounding quite distant. "Okay, we'll let her take it. Just . . . just make her feel better."

Kendall saw Jamie's face very clear and sharp, though his voice was so far away. His hand was on Edward's shoulder, calming him down because he seemed kind of upset.

"I will. I promise. I'm going to help all of them."


	16. Chapter 15: Business As Usual

Chapter Fifteen

Business As Usual

Flip had already sold out of her week's supply from Emma Warcheski. She knew Adam Phillips was one of the other dealers, he was the one she had followed to find out what was going on, and she knew he was nearly out, too. She didn't know who else might be selling at G-Prep, but it stood to reason that they were probably sold out, too. They'd gotten a larger supply this week, too.

It was Kendall coming back to school, Flip thought. Seeing that she was okay, though understandably grieving, had made them even more confident that Red-Hot was alright. In fact, they'd all been feeling pretty much on top of the world, lately. When you were high, you could do anything. You could pass a test you'd barely studied for and talk your teacher into giving you an extension on the paper you'd forgotten about. It was a heady thing to sit there in the classroom with your marked water bottle, sipping Red-Hot and never getting caught.

Flip was proud of the water bottles. They'd been her idea. It had taken two weeks for Emma to get back to her on whether or not she could put the drug in water, but she'd been very impressed with Flip's initiative. Flip nearly burst with pride when she saw the kids drinking out of their water bottles right in front of Principal Rosado, and winking at her as she passed by. It was almost like having a friend, for a minute.

This week, nobody was her friend. This week, everything was bad and ugly. It was the drug. It was not having it. Flip had run out, and she needed some. She needed some for the girls who came to her in tears and barely standing, for the guys who grabbed her and pushed her up against a wall and screamed at her, but their hands were shaking and they couldn't hold her for long. She jerked her head up as she started falling asleep in class again, and knew she needed it, too. She couldn't go without it anymore. She had to stay awake, though. She had to take her notes. You couldn't get away with not studying if you hadn't been using, it wasn't the same . . .

"I need a drink of water," she announced, jumping up from her seat and hoping nobody saw her poised for an instant as she thought she'd fall. Mr. Phillips was used to her interruptions by this point, and ignored her to continue the lesson as she stumbled out into the hallway, hoping for a breath of something resembling fresh air. "I don't know how they all just sit there like that," she muttered, she didn't know to whom. "It's so boring, how can they just sit still?"

She went to the machine that dispensed water bottles and put her quarters in. It wasn't the kind of water bottle she was looking for. She needed the kind with a red mark on the label. She needed . . . she needed . . . something . . .

Flip wasn't sure how she'd gotten there, but sitting on the floor of the hallway felt nice. All the pent-up energy and the restless thoughts that had plagued her life as long as she could remember had deserted her, and all she wanted to do was sit here on the carpet. It was a good carpet, clean and unstained, because parents would flip out if their kids' school wasn't perfect. Flip out, like her. She giggled, and sipped from her water bottle. She was so thirsty, but the water wasn't what she wanted. She didn't want to think about parents, not about _her_ parents, anyway. Her mom and her stepdad . . . they wouldn't like what she was doing, not at all. She was supposed to be a good girl, a normal girl, she was supposed to go to college and be perfect like all the other kids at G-Prep. The therapist in New York said she was supposed to. Her life was so good, they all said, what was wrong with her? She didn't know, she really didn't know. Her life must be great, they said it was, and when did Flip know any better? But lately she needed something else. She wished the kids were really her friends, not just after her for drugs and sex when they wouldn't admit it to anybody. There were guys here, of course there were, that had taken her up on her offer, but they wouldn't tell. She wouldn't tell, either. She didn't want to get beaten up, she didn't want to be called a liar. She just wished she knew what she did want.

She did know what she wanted. She wanted Jamie Edwards. He was so nice, he was a good person, she could tell just by looking at him. Dumb Eddie loved him, spent all his free time in the French classroom. He said he was married, but she'd never seen his wife. She'd seen his brother's wife, she knew Drew wasn't lying, but maybe Jamie was just saying that to keep away from her. Why did everyone always want to stay so far away from her?

"Courtney? What are you doing?"

"Hi, Kendall," Flip said, cheered by the appearance of someone who actually called her by her name and didn't make it sound— well, she liked being called Flip, but Kendall could call her Courtney. "You don't look so good," she said, wishing she could get a filter for her mouth to make stupid things like that not come out anymore.

"Neither do you," Kendall answered, extending a hand to help Flip up. She took it, and noticed that the back of Kendall's hand had faint freckles on it, like Flip's nose did. She hated freckles, and she wondered if they bothered Kendall.

"You look better than I do," Flip said. "You have more energy, even though you're not using Red-Hot anymore. How come?"

"I'm getting treatment," Kendall said. "Don't you remember? That big meeting they had with the parents over the weekend? Dr. Edwards has come up with a way to help us get through the withdrawal."

Flip had forgotten, and she wished she hadn't. She wished she didn't forget things sometimes. Her therapist scolded her for that, when her mom and stepdad told him she'd forgotten things. He said she was supposed to be training her brain. But reminded now, she felt happy. She liked saying, "_Doctor_ Edwards," it was so delicious.

"Does it work?"

Kendall nodded. "A couple of other students have started taking it, too. It's working."

"What do you feel like?" Flip asked, and she swayed on her feet. She just wanted to go to sleep right now, but maybe she could go see Dr. Edwards . . .

Kendall was nearly holding her up, her face looking panicked, and Flip realized they were walking towards the French classroom. That was good, that was where she wanted to go. "I feel better, Flip. I don't need Red-Hot. I don't feel so tired, anymore, and it keeps me a little bit relaxed so when I start craving, it doesn't hurt too bad. It's very mild, just like Jamie said it would be. You have to fight, though. It won't keep you from wanting Red-Hot. It just helps you to not need it so much."

Flip had reached the door of the French classroom, the haven, where she wanted to go. "Oh, that's great, we're here," she said. Some of her old restlessness came back, and she managed to straighten up.

The bell rang for lunch, and that was when Kendall had to leave. She was only going to school half a day right now, because she had to go to doctor's appointments, or go home and sleep in the afternoons. Her parents said so, and they came to pick her up at lunchtime. Flip knew that.

"Oh, you'd better go, bye Kendall," she said, as all the students who'd just had French class poured out into the hallway. Some of them were glad it was lunch, some of them were looking worn out and dragging their feet.

"Are you going to be all right?" Kendall asked, shouldering a free space in the door to push Flip through. Up at the front of the room, Dr. Edwards saw them and frowned with worry.

"Oh, yeah, I'm always all right, you know," Flip said casually, still feeling very, very tired.

"Jamie," Kendall said, the room now nearly empty. "Flip needs help, but I have to go. Can you please help her?" Kendall sounded so upset, like she was going to cry. Flip didn't know why. She hated it when people got all touchy-feely with her and acted like they would cry.

"Oh, relax, Kendall," she snapped. "It's not that big of a deal. Just go home."

Kendall backed out of the door, looking hurt. Flip felt a little guilty, but when was that a new thing for her?

"What's wrong, Ms. Ware?" Dr. Edwards asked her as she came fully into the room.

"You don't have to call me that," she said stiffly, feeling insulted. "I'm not just some stranger, I'm in your class."

"All right, Courtney. What can I do for you?"

"Kendall said you have something that will help. With Red-Hot. I need it, I need something." Flip was ready to fall over, and she was upset that he didn't notice. He was hardly even looking at her. But he did look up when she said that, and his face was pinched with worry. "I feel really bad," she said with a shrug. "I don't know what to do. Can you help me?"

"Yes, I can," he said calmly, "but I need to speak to your parents first."

"No!" she said, knowing she sounded scared, but she couldn't help it. "No, don't talk to them, they can't know!"

"Courtney, I'm not going to give you medication without their approval. I hope you understand why."

"I understand why," she spat out. "But it's stupid." Then she fell over, and she was surprised she didn't hurt herself. She missed all of the desks, even though she wasn't taking the Red-Hot that should have made that luck possible.

Then Dr. Edwards was there, a hand under her arm, lifting her back up and moving her to sit at one of the desks. She didn't want to sit down, though. She just felt so weak, like a newborn kitten, and she grabbed onto the man. He was stronger than she was, he could help her. It would be okay if she could just get him to understand she needed help. And she knew what she could say, what would make him help her. It might even get her close enough to sleep with him, and she really wanted that.

"Please, help me," she whispered. "I can't do this anymore. I don't want to do drugs, I don't." That much was true. "I don't know how to stop. Please. I need to stop." She clung to his shirt, and he held her up with a very tender embrace. It made her think. This felt so good. It felt so wonderful just to let him hold her and feel like somebody could make things okay. She didn't need to try to sleep with him now. That was just sex, it wasn't important. This was special.

The handle on the door clattered, and Dr. Edwards pushed her into a chair at the nearest desk forcefully. His face was so calm and collected that Flip knew he'd lied a lot in the past. This would look bad, if anyone saw it, and he was all prepared to lie about it. But that was good, she didn't want anyone to know. But now— shit, now he'd always be on his guard around her, he'd never let her get that close again. Whoever this was had spoiled _everything_.

Dumb Eddie bounced in, his beautiful black hair hanging over his forehead instead of combed straight, and Flip was disgusted. Somebody had been giving him style tips. What was the point? Dumb Eddie was from a rich enough family, he wore the trendy clothes. They were never going to make him sexy. Whoever had told him to do that with his hair was stupid. And boy, was she pissed with him right now. He'd interrupted the only chance she was likely to ever have. She missed having Dr. Edwards hold her already.

"Hello, Edward," Dr. Edwards said with a smile. "I'm almost ready."

"What are you doing?" Flip asked suspiciously.

"Extra French lesson. He's trying to improve his ability to read lips when they're making really foreign sounds."

Flip snorted. "Good luck, Dummie," she said, facing the other student. "I'm going home, I don't feel good."

"Courtney, I'll call your parents tonight. They'll understand, I'm sure."

"Whatever," she growled. Like hell they'd understand. At least he didn't know she was a dealer. She was going to get Eddie for this.

- - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - -

How many times had he done this in his life? Harry wondered as he tailed Landon home from school. The boy didn't live too far from the school, so he walked. Harry (and/or Drew) had purposely been assigning very little homework so that he could spend time observing Landon and continuing to comb the woods for signs of the magical ingredients that Landon needed to gather. Landon received no suspect deliveries, and certainly was never visited by an owl or other magical messenger. For him to be cooking up Red-Hot, he'd need to be gathering the supplies from the immediate area.

Unless he knew how to Apparate. That would be worrisome, indeed. An opponent with good Apparation skills was always harder to deal with than an unskilled one. Harry could throw up an Anti-Apparation charm pretty quickly now, but it was always iffy and it was very difficult to follow the perp if they managed to get through. But Landon was strolling along like he he'd never heard of magic in his life outside of video games. He looked like he always did—surly and unpredictable. He was growing a laughable and fuzzy little goatee, and Harry couldn't imagine that even with a tutor, Landon had a good enough grasp on magic to so much as hex Harry with boils.

Harry was glad of that, glad to be facing an opponent so young. He probably wouldn't have to hurt him, and there was a much greater chance that Landon could be reformed rather than being thrown into jail until the jailkeepers got tired of having him. Landon didn't use his own product and stayed in the shadows, making him vastly more intelligent than some of the criminals Harry had gone up against over the years, but he was still a child. He might even be persuaded to listen to reason. Then Harry thought sourly of Thomas Tyrell, for the first time in quite a while. A killer at nineteen, dead at twenty. Landon could be a case like that. Harry hoped he would be more like Draco. Someone who needed a chance, a fresh start, to show what they had the ability to be.

Thinking about what the boy had done, Landon seemed so far gone, already. Harry didn't know what to do with him when he did catch him in the act of making Red-Hot. Landon stopped on the sidewalk to pick something up off the ground—a quarter, it looked like—and a cat rubbed itself against his legs.

"Get off," he heard Landon mutter, though he was standing well back. He'd experimented with Extendable Ears until he'd gotten a spell that would do the trick without a physical link. "I said get off, stupid," he said, loud enough for the entire street to hear, as the cat continued to rub against Landon's black fatigue pants.

Suddenly the cat was flying down the street, and Harry blinked. He thought Landon had kicked it, then his brain processed what had really happened. Landon had picked the thing up and flung it by the tail. Some pet owner was going to be really unhappy, but Landon just started walking again, slipping the quarter into his pocket.

"God, I'm so bored," Landon muttered under his breath. Harry's spell was barely enough to catch it. "Wonder what Adam's doing." There was a silent pause, then Landon muttered, "That idiot's going to get himself killed."

Harry's heart leaped into his throat. He needed to warn Jim immediately. If Landon was unhappy with Adam for some reason, that didn't bode well. If Landon had already killed twice . . . what was to stop him from doing it again?

Landon's head jerked up sharply, and he spun around to look at Harry. Harry kept walking, hoping his Polyjuice disguise made him look innocuous. But Landon wasn't looking at him. He was looking past him. Harry turned his head just in time to see someone duck out of sight through a hedge between two of the suburban homes Harry had just walked past. His heart pounded. Someone _else_ was following Landon? Or were they following _him_?

"Oh, shit," he whispered aloud.

Landon broke into a run, flying past Harry (in his disguise as an older guy who lived next door to the house Peter was renting for them), and pursuing the person who'd run through the hedge. Harry immediately gave chase as well. He supposed this was why he and Ginny played those Quidditch games with their co-workers at the Ministry. He had to stay in shape to chase after bad guys. Or maybe not a bad guy. Who _was_ running from them? And who had they been following; Landon, or him?

He stayed behind Landon, who didn't seem to realize Harry's presence, so intent was he on the person staying just out of sight ahead of them. They wove their way through a small orchard, through more hedges, jumped backyard fences, and Harry felt splinters dig deep into both palms as he used his hands to get over the low fence and saw the barest flash of Landon landing on the other side and heading into the forest it butted up against. Starting to pant, Harry ran across the yard and leapt back over the same fence to follow them into the woods. He caught sight of Landon running ahead of him, and was impressed with the boy's running stamina. Whoever was ahead of them was _fast_.

Landon suddenly jogged to a halt, bending over with his hands on his legs and gasping for breath. He puked on the ground at his feet, having run too hard and unable to even raise his head now. Harry flew by him, not even caring that Landon might see him and wonder what the hell this old guy was doing. He was too concerned about suddenly having another unknown in this case. He pushed himself a little harder, now that he wasn't trying to stay behind Landon, and soon he could see the figure he was chasing through the trees.

Male, he decided quickly. Young. Wearing a red shirt, and—

A flash of blinding light went off in Harry's face, and he jerked his head away, just as he decided he was seeing blond hair. He shook his head, trying to get rid of the spots in his eyes, but the person was gone. Not Apparated, or he'd have heard it. Just too far ahead, now. Harry's vision hurt his head as spots continued to swim before him, and he shut his eyes and leaned against a tree. This was a problem. This was a real problem. That person was using magic. A young, blond, male had just set off a magical light show to escape him.

Harry dragged his weary body back to the house, where he was greeted by Draco. Ginny and the kids had gone to the grocery store.

"Did you get anything on Landon?" Draco asked.

In truth, Harry had nearly forgotten about the boy he'd left behind in the forest. He vaguely remembered thinking, _Landon will still be here tomorrow_, as he'd continued the chase after the unknown figure. Having another mysterious person, another _wizard_, show up in this case had been a more urgent matter.

"Draco, we've got a problem."


	17. Chapter 16: A Little Something More

Chapter Sixteen

A Little Something More

"Please, Autumn," Stace said, sitting on the edge of her bed and watching her fume at him.

Autumn, who'd been pacing away from him, spun on her heel and faced him again. "What is the big deal, Stace? Honestly, it's not hurting you!"

Stace wanted to cry. Of course it was hurting him. It was hurting him a lot. Watching Autumn's body destroy itself, watching her become nothing but a drug addict, was shattering him. She used to be just a drug _user_. She used to take Red-Hot, and go to class, and go to her little meetings, and plan for the future, and make love to him. Now all she did was use Red-Hot and run around on top of the world, or run out of Red-Hot and practically fall apart. Right now, she was out of Red-Hot.

"Autumn, look at yourself," he said softly. "Look at yourself."

Her hair was becoming so brittle. Little pieces were breaking off of her beautiful blond hair. Her eyes were so bruised from exhaustion that it looked like she'd been boxing a champion prize fighter. She was pacing around her room with anger and agitation, but it looked like she could barely stand up. When she was using, it was worse. Then, she looked like a puppet. Like a beautiful little puppet with no life of her own, her strings pulled by the maker of Red-Hot to animate her. Her broken hair would become ragged from the way she constantly ran her hands through it. Her nails would all chip away because she would clack them constantly against any flat surface, picking out manic rhythms with her fingers. She'd applied fresh acrylics today, and she was wearing thick makeup to hide the dark circles under her eyes, but she had to know. She had to realize how awful she looked.

"I can see just fine, Stace, thank you. And I'm sorry if I've been keeping too busy to doll myself up for you."

"For me?" he said, trying to shout, but the words stuck in his throat and they came out in a thick, twisted whisper. "I never said you should doll yourself up. Autumn, your fucking hair is falling out because you can't stop pulling it."

"Which you noticed earlier when you tried to force me to have sex with you?" Autumn said shrilly.

"I didn't _force_ you to do anything!" Stace shouted, standing up. This was just too much. "You said you wanted to, then after you got started, you said that you were too tired to finish! And what did I do? Huh? Did I _force_ you? No, I backed off and left you alone!"

Autumn's eyes were wide, and she clamped her hands against her temples. "Stace, shut up."

"I don't want to shut up!" he fumed. "Listen to yourself! Look at yourself! You're a drug addict, and you won't even admit it!"

"Stace, stop shouting, please," she begged. "My head really hurts."

"No kidding!" he shouted, completely ignoring the plea. Served her right. "Maybe it's because you're crashing so hard you can barely stand up!"

As if reminded, Autumn put one trembling hand on her desk chair and sat down cautiously. Her eyes were squinting now, trying to block out the sensory perceptions that were causing her so much pain. The light hurt, the sound hurt, it all hurt. Stace knew what it looked like. A bunch of kids were experiencing it the last two days when they'd bought out the entire Red-Hot supply for the week. It looked like a damn plague ward everytime he set foot in a classroom now. Ill, exhausted kids slumped at their desks with glassy-eyed pain in every feature, unless they still had some supply left and were bouncing in their seats with feverish red cheeks. And a couple of others. The ones that were giving Stace the only hope he had to save Autumn. There were couple of people in each class who looked pale and tired, but sat up straight and took their notes. People like Kendall Steen. The addicts joked about them. Said they were "Cooling Down."

Stace held up the small bottle he'd stolen from Dr. Edward's desk. It was the teacher's Cool-Down treatment.

"Please, Autumn, I really want you to try it. Just once. Just see if it helps."

"For the last time, _Stacey_, I don't need help. I'm still myself, you know, I'm just myself and a little something more to help me keep up with everything I want to do. If I feel like using Red-Hot, I will. I'm not hurting anyone, and I really doubt you have a problem with my looks, since they're still enough to get you to jump in the sack at a moment's notice."

Stace didn't argue with her. She wasn't beautiful anymore, not like she was when she was healthy. But he didn't want to give up on her. Sex had been so special, something he did only with her, and she only with him. It was something to say that they were together, like they weren't with anyone else. Well, okay, a few times it had been because it felt like nothing else in the world and he had hardly cared whether it was Autumn under him or basically any other living female on the planet. But he had never slept with anyone else, had he? Today, though . . . today it had been trying to get that back. Trying to get Autumn to prove she still wanted to be with him. To prove that he was on her side, that even though she looked like hell, he was still with her. He'd wanted her to trust him. But she didn't. Not at all. And now he couldn't trust her, either.

"Autumn, I don't want to fight with you," he said, trying to calm down. This hurt so much, and he didn't know why. He didn't love Autumn, he was certainly not ready to use that word. But he couldn't stand watching this happen. Not to her or to anyone. It was horrible, it was disgusting . . . and it was sad. It was so sad. Stace honestly couldn't remember ever being genuinely sad before, and he knew it was because he was so spoiled, but now he knew. He knew what depression and grief felt like.

"Oh, I'm sorry, I thought that when I said I was fine and you said I was wrong that you were starting a fight. My mistake," Autumn said coldly. Everything about her was cold, now. She was so pale . . .

"Autumn, I'll go. Okay? But I'm going to leave this here. I want you to try it, please. For me?"

He set the little bottle down on her desk, and let his hand brush over her shoulder as he backed away. She exploded up out of her seat, grabbing the bottle and flinging it at him. He ducked, and the bottle hit her wall. She ran over, snatched it up, and shoved it at him.

"You take that out of here," she said viciously.

"_Fine_!" he roared. "But I'm leaving with it. Got it? If you won't even listen to me, then you obviously don't want help. I'm through fighting with you right now."

"Good! Get out! Get the hell out of my house!"

Stace did, slamming her front door so hard it made the windows rattle. He was pissed. No, furious. If Autumn had idea what he _could_ have done, instead of what he had chosen to do—she didn't even know she could be laying on the floor looking like a cucumber stuffed in a girl's trendy outfit. She probably _was_ laying on the floor, he thought with a twist in his gut. She'd likely used up every ounce of energy she'd had left after coming down off the drug.

When he parked his car in front of his home, he didn't want to go in. Unfortunately, he wasn't on speaking terms with either of the two people he usually went to when he didn't feel like acting polite with his parents, and he was too tired to try to act like a careless buddy with Mike or anybody. He stalked into his house and slammed that door almost as loud as he'd slammed Autumn's. His mother appeared in the doorway to the study, looking stern.

"Stacey."

"Yes, mom?"

"Have you studied for this weekend?"

He rolled his eyes.

"Stacey Law, we hired you a tutor for a good reason, and we pay good money for him to teach you. You will at least make an effort. You are supposed to be—"

"I know," he said, then immediately backed up his attitude upon seeing the dangerous look on his mother's face. "All right, I'll go study. I'm sorry."

He unlocked the door to the den that had been converted into his classroom with his tutor, and sat down at the desk. The bottle of Cool-Down bumped against his leg. He pulled it out and stared at it. He shrugged, then uncapped it. It was as good a test subject as any, and maybe Mr. Vane would be impressed if he could figure out the ingredients.

* * *

An hour later, Stace exited the den and locked the door. His chest felt tight, and he was breathless. He knew what he had to do, but it had to be believable. If they were already on guard because his story didn't seem right, he'd never get the truth. How could he do this? He'd been trying to think, when he was locked up in the den, but his mind was spinning. What he'd finally realized was too overwhelming to really accept.

Then his dad was standing there. "Your mother says you came home with a really bad attitude. _And_ that Autumn's parents are out of town again and you spent all afternoon there."

Suddenly, it was all too easy.

"You afraid to just ask, Dad?" Stace said, his voice too high. "Yes, Autumn and I are having sex. Yes, I do know more than I'm letting on about the drug problem at my school. Plus, I stole something today. Oh, and even though you'd never think to ask, no, I don't always have my homework done when I say I do."

"What is this? What's your problem, Stace?" his dad asked, folding his arms and blocking off the hallway.

"My _problem_," he said, trying to squeeze past, "is this, right here! You won't give me any freedom! Have you ever heard of personal space?"

"Oh, you think you deserve some?"

"When have I ever done anything to make you think I don't?"

His dad continued to block the hallway, unfolding his arms and gesturing with his hands like he always did when he was mad.

"Apparently, you've been doing plenty!"

"So what? I haven't been hurting anybody! You didn't even know about it, so obviously it hasn't been affecting you. All I ever get to do is study, and work hard, and make 'connections' with your business partners. Maybe all I'm hiding is the opportunities I take to be an actual teenager once in a while!" Stace reached for his back pocket, and eyed his father threateningly.

His dad sighed, and seemed to become smaller as he pushed out that tired breath. "Your mother said this was coming. Look, Stace, let's talk, okay? We don't need to argue about it. I'm understandably upset about what you're telling me, but I promise that if you want to talk, I'll try to listen and not fight. Okay?"

Stace snorted, and shoved his way out of the hallway.

"You don't want to talk, you would love to ground me for the rest of my life right now. But you're afraid of me, aren't you?"

"No, of course not. Why would I be?"

Stace reached for his pocket again, and saw his father's eyes change.

"That's what I thought," he muttered. "Listen, I'm sick of this, of getting ordered around all the time, of not being trusted. And I'm really sick of the way you look at me like I'm some kind of freak. Maybe I don't want to be just like you, Dad, did you ever think of that?"

He pulled out his car keys.

"Where are you going?" his dad asked.

"None of your business."

He got back in his car and drove to a place he never would have imagined going when he was upset. He went to a teacher's house. And when he knocked on the door and it was opened by a pretty red-headed woman with a red-headed little girl clinging to her leg, he wondered if he had a clue what he was doing. He was practically throwing up with the foul taste of the words he'd just forced himself to say to his father. The really foul feeling was realizing how easily it had come out. Did he actually feel that way?

"Is Mr. Edwards here?" he heard himself asking.

"My husband isn't in. Can I help you?"

"I . . . I go to Greenwood. I . . . just got in a really big fight with my parents. I don't want to— Dr. Edwards!" he blurted out in relief when he saw the blond brother limping curiously toward the door. He wasn't in Dr. Edwards' class, but he thought the man might know who he was.

"You're Stace Law, right? What's going on?" Dr. Edwards asked curiously.

"I can't go home right now," Stace muttered. "I had a fight with my dad. And I can't go to Autumn's house, 'cause I've been fighting with her. And I can't go to Adam's house because he's—" Stace didn't know how it had happened, but he was really crying. He didn't think he was faking it. "I don't know where to go. But you and Mr. Edwards keep saying you care about us, and I just thought maybe . . ."

"Let him in, Ginny," he heard Dr. Edwards say quietly, though it was hard to see him through the blur. "It's okay, he's from the school." Then he was being led inside with a hand on his shoulder. "What is it, Stace? Can I do anything?"

Stace shook his head and sank down on the sofa that Dr. Edwards had directed him to. "I stole one of your Cool-Down treatments. I'm sorry."

"I didn't know you'd been taking Red-Hot. But it's okay, I'm not trying to make money on the treatment. All you had to do was ask."

"No, it wasn't for me, it was for Autumn. I know you've been calling everyone's parents, and I didn't want to get her in trouble."

"I see. Well, that's okay. I will need to call her parents anyway, but—"

"No. She wouldn't take it. She doesn't want it." Stace put his head down in his hands. "I think we might have just broken up. I was so mad at her. She's ruining herself, and it's scaring me."

Dr. Edwards kept his hand on Stace's shaking shoulder, and Stace felt like he was sitting with someone who understood what was going on. He almost forgot why he was really here. He was here to spy on them. He had to know who they really were. He had to know if they were like him. If they had that little something more to them.


	18. Chapter 17: A Little More Truth

Chapter Seventeen

A Little More Truth

Stace woke up with a feeling of muddled confusion. His head was fuzzy, and even without opening his eyes, things felt unfamiliar. He shifted, and he fell with an ungracious thump onto the floor. He was awake and on his feet in an instant, staring around at the room he found himself in. He suddenly remembered where he was. He was in the Edwards' house. He'd been sleeping on their couch.

He sat back down on the couch, pushing aside the blanket he'd been under, feeling grumpy. He hadn't discovered anything last night. It had all been so normal. Drew Edwards had come home, and the two kids Stace had just been introduced to ran out shrieking with happiness to see him. They'd had dinner, and Drew had helped his wife with the dishes. Drew didn't seem concerned about Stace being here. He'd done his homework and listened to Mrs. Edwards playing with her kids, and then they'd all gone to bed. They'd let Stace sleep on the couch.

And now he was awake, but something had woken him up. He wasn't sure what. He'd heard a noise. A really loud noise, he thought. Then the front door opened, and a whole bunch of people came inside, chattering excitedly and trying to talk over each other the way groups of people did. Stace threw the blanket over his bare shoulders and stared.

Dr. Edwards came in with a really beautiful woman clutching his arm, and she had her face turned up to laugh at something he was saying. When he ducked his head to the side to kiss her, Stace knew it had to be his wife. Oh, yeah. That was what Stace had forgotten. The doctor's wife, plus his stepson, Drew's oldest son, and two of their friends were arriving today to spend a couple of weeks. It had caused Stace to wonder just when exactly Ms. Danvers was going to be back and how long Jamie was staying, but now he thought there was something more to that story.

He tried to pick out who was who among the four boys. He couldn't remember what their names were, but he knew Drew's son was the youngest. Stace couldn't tell which was the youngest, so he didn't try. He figured they'd tell him which was which soon enough. He quickly pulled his shirt back on, seeing as how there was a lady present. He had slept in his jeans.

"Sorry, Stace, did we wake you?" Dr. Edwards asked as he herded the group inside.

Stace shook his head. "I was already up."

"Well, here's the bunch," Dr. Edwards said, gesturing at the boys. "This is my wife, Vianne."

"Pleased to meet you, Mrs. Edwards," he responded politely.

"You as well," she replied in a gracious voice. Stace was a bit awestruck. She walked like a dancer and she was as beautiful as a woman sculpted out of ice, with pale skin and sculptured features. He couldn't help but think Dr. Edwards had married up.

"This one's my stepson, Ran," Dr. Edwards continued, pulling the tall one forward by his arm. Ran stuck out his hand to shake with Stace, looking tall and imposing but somehow good-natured. Good lord, the kid could practically grow a full beard already?

"That one is my nephew, Matt," he said, and the skinny one with his hair in a ponytail shook hands with Stace.

" 'Lo," the boy said, and Stace tried not to notice the discoloured patch of skin on his neck.

"This one's Trouble and that one's Worse," Dr. Edwards finished, pointing at the other two boys. Then he frowned mockingly. "Wait, or is it the other way 'round? I can never remember."

"Don't listen to him," the one with darker hair said with a wink. "We're just misunderstood. I'm Morgan."

"And I'm Douglas," the shorter one added, thrusting out his hand to shake as well. Stace was glad there was no one else, or his hand would have started cramping. "Misunderstood, exactly."

"Uh-huh," Matt and Ran said at the same moment in the same dubious tone.

They all laughed, and Stace felt a pang of jealousy. They all seemed like good friends, and here he was, alienated from all of his own friends.

"Where's Mum and Dad?" Matt asked, looking around the living room as though they might randomly appear.

"Matt!" came an ear-piercing shriek, and the little bespectacled boy Stace had met last night came barreling out of his room, throwing himself forward. The tall, skinny boy caught the solid weight and swung him up to avoid a serious collision before bringing him down low enough that the boy could grab him around the neck and wrap his legs around Matt's back. "You're here! Are you fourteen yet?"

"Yes, I am, to both," the young man said, grinning, and hugging the boy with real joy evident on his face. "Hey, Crash. I missed you."

"I missed you, too," he confided. Then he let go with a sudden movement and would have landed right on his butt if Matt hadn't tightened his grip and let him down slowly. The boy paused only long enough to get both feet on the ground before launching himself at Ran. "Hi, Ran!" He settled for giving Ran's legs a hug, and then gave the other two boys a cheeky wave. "Hi."

"Hello, Sirius," the one called Douglas said warmly. "How's America?"

Sirius made a face. "It's boring," he said exaggeratedly. "I can't play—"

Matt sneezed loudly. Sirius looked at Stace with wide eyes, and Stace saw Ran exchange significant looks with Douglas and Morgan.

"With your friends?" Morgan finished for the boy. "That's tough. Well, at least you can hang out with us for a couple of weeks."

Sirius's eyes shifted around the room and settled back on his older brother. "I missed your birthday," he pouted.

"That's all right, Crash," Matt said, ruffling his already crazy hair. "Don't you remember? Mum and Dad are going to give me a birthday party while we're all here together."

"Party!" Sirius cried out happily. "Okay!"

They all laughed, but Douglas' laughter turned into yawning, which caused Morgan and Vianne to start yawning, too.

"Can we take a nap or something?" Morgan asked. "We were up all night packing."

"Some of us packed the day before," Matt said importantly.

"Some of us are gits who are going to get trounced this year during— during school," Morgan shot back, very obviously not looking at Stace. "I could sleep right here on the rug, or I could sleep in a bed. I vote for a bed. Can I use yours, Crash?"

"Sure," the boy said enthusiastically.

"Good," Douglas said fervently. "I need sleep."

Stace had thought the two boys were standing awfully close together. Then Morgan put his arm around Douglas' waist and said, "lead on, then, Crash," and they followed the little boy toward his room. Stace blinked and hoped his face wasn't revolted or anything. This wasn't his house, after all.

Douglas turned his head and winked at Stace, who sat up straight in fury, then forced himself to keep his mouth closed. He just smiled weakly.

Matt and Ran both rolled their eyes, and looked at him.

"They're just doing that to get a reaction out of you," Matt said.

"Congratulations, you passed," Ran added.

"Oh. Good. I guess."

"Hey, Matt," came yet another voice, and Drew stepped out with his wife right behind him. Stace was starting to feel like he was in a British sit-com.

Matt's whole face lit up. "Hey, Dad."

They hugged like they hadn't seen each other in— well, they really hadn't seen each other in a while. It was kind of a nice thing to see, a father and son who loved each other like that and weren't afraid to let other people know it, too. Matt hugged his mother like that, too, and Stace realized that the boy didn't look anything like them. They were all three athletic and had athlete's bodies, but the resemblance ended there. Drew and Ginny were both of medium height, Drew with non-descript brown hair and Ginny with flaming red. Drew shared bright green eyes with his younger son, and their daughter Charlotte looked just like Ginny. Matt didn't look like anybody else in his family.

_He's adopted, then_. Stace tried not to look like he'd noticed it, though. Maybe Matt didn't know that.

Stace found himself sitting at the table eating a late breakfast with the family after a few minutes, though Douglas and Morgan were absent, as they were asleep. Stace excused himself to go into the backyard and think, rather than try to sit through the joking and fun the family was having. He couldn't go home until he figured out what he was here to figure out, and he wasn't really ready for all the apologies he would have to make. He was worried about Adam, and about Autumn. Autumn, whose parents weren't home, and who could be in need of him right now. God, what if she had fallen in her house and couldn't get help?

He reentered the house only long enough to say,

"Thanks for letting me stay here last night. I'm going to try to talk to Autumn."

"It was no problem, Stace. You know you can stay here tonight if you need to," Drew said easily. There was going to be a serious lack of places to sleep, Stace thought, but he was glad of the invitation. He needed to come back here. He didn't want to ask the questions he was so desperate to ask until they'd already given him a hint, any hint.

He went to see Autumn. She was asleep in her bed, which was good, but it was hard to rouse her, which wasn't.

"Autumn, baby," he murmured, shaking her. "Come on, wake up."

She did, and when she saw it was him, she glared. "What are you doing here?"

"I wanted to make sure you're okay."

"I'm fine. Get out."

"Autumn, I'm sorry, I didn't mean to yell at you yesterday."

"Stace, you can yell at me all you like, and I won't care. The problem is that you don't even want me for who I am. You just want me to be some little doll for you, to sit next to you while you go places in life. Well, I'm my own person, and I don't need you. Leave me alone."

Stace blinked, his hands frozen on her shoulders. "I never said that."

"You didn't have to say it, you dolt. It's just how you are. Now get out."

"Autumn?"

"What?"

"Autumn, I'm worried about you. I'm really worried. Will you please try using this treatment?"

She shoved him away from her and jumped out of bed with an incoherent shriek. "Why won't you just let me make my own decisions? What is your problem?"

"My problem?" he asked, looking up at her from the floor where he'd fallen when she pushed him, and feeling a moment of deja vu. She stood over him, her body gone thin and frail and white and sickly, and her emotions irascible and frightening. "My problem is that I care about you, and you won't let me. You're sick, Autumn. Please, let me help."

She leaned over him, and his heart leaped with anticipation. Maybe she was listening. "_Just go away_!" she screamed, and her spit hit him in the eye.

He jerked up from the ground so quickly that she stumbled back and fell onto the bed, her bare white legs looking dry and rough. "Fine. I'll go away. But I'm not coming back, Autumn. Not ever. Do you understand me?"

She gasped, looking like he'd struck her. She didn't say anything.

"If I leave, I'm not coming back," he repeated, and took a step backward toward the door. Her face still and cold, she watched him. "If you want to see me again, you have to stop me from walking away right now." He kept stepping backward. "Think about it, Autumn. I care about you, and I want to help you. Do you want me to stay?"

Her face crumpled. He was through the door. She still said nothing. Heartsick and angry, Stace left and drove back to the Edwards' house.

* * *

When Stace walked inside, he felt like he should have knocked, but he was still trying to catch them at it. This time, he got lucky. This time, they thought he'd be gone for awhile, and the two boys were sitting at the table with Drew, discussing something in a book that looked ancient and dusty.

"See there?" Matt was saying. "His diary says mosques are holy ground, too, just like that church."

"So you think it's all religious places?" Ran frowned. "Temples, and churches, and everything?"

"I don't know," Matt shrugged. "I don't think it could be, or we'd be more aware of the effect it has. Unless most churches are just fresh out of believing parishioners, of course."

"That," Drew said, "is entirely possible. In fact, I think it's more likely that not enough churchgoers believe in that kind of power, than that only certain churches have it."

"In other words, it's no certain protection," Ran summed up. "You got really lucky, Matt, you and Draco."

Matt nodded soberly. "I think so. But I think I want to study it further. I want to see if Draco has any books on that kind of thing, but they're all boxed up while Vianne's working on the house."

"Speaking of Draco," Ran said, standing up, "I'm going out back to see how everything's going."

"All right," Drew said absently, his eyes on the diary or whatever it was. They still hadn't noticed Stace, who was staring at them and feeling his mouth getting dry with nervous anticipation.

"We never bring that up, Matt, but it occurs to me to ask you if you're doing all right," Drew said, his voice soft and his hand on his son's shoulder. "You seem like you got over it pretty quickly, but . . . if you ever need to talk about it, you can."

"Well, it was kind of traumatic, but it was a long time ago," Matt shrugged. "I mean, Tyrell's dead and Cross is in prison. And I know how to defend myself pretty well."

"Yeah," Drew said, and he looked amused. "You're like me, though. You've got to be pretty angry before you can perform a really strong Stunning spell."

Stace didn't think he made any noise, but both heads suddenly turned in his direction and they saw him standing there. They both froze. And Stace found his voice.

"I knew it," he said, feeling entranced. "I knew it."

"What do you mean, Stace?" Drew asked calmly.

Stace pulled the little bottle out of his pocket. It was empty, he'd used it yesterday running his tests to try to impress his tutor, but Drew knew what it was, Stace could tell by his wide eyes.

"I knew this was a potion."

Drew made a sound of dismay and stood up quickly, pulling open a drawer in the hutch just behind him and pulling out—his wand. His wand.

"I _knew_ it."

"Is it you?" Drew asked, pointing the wand at Stace. Stace suddenly realized that it might have been a bad idea to spring this on them. Drew looked a bit dangerous. "Are you the one making Red-Hot?"

"No-o-o," Stace said slowly, staring at that wand and hoping Drew wasn't especially short-tempered. "No, I'm not. I haven't been doing anything. I've been minding my lessons and keeping quiet about them like a good little student. I think it's Landon."

Drew's eyes widened. "It was you. You were the one who was following Landon the other day."

Stace gasped. "Were you the one chasing me?"

"Yes."

"Good disguise, sir. That was really good, I never would have known it was you. I was following Landon, see. I wanted to see if I could catch him doing any magic."

Matt was following all this with his eyes going back and forth like he was at a tennis match. "Dad," he said suddenly. "Dad, put your wand down. It's okay."

Drew flushed, and did as Matt said. "Then you're . . ."

"I'm a wizard," Stace whispered. "My tutor said there were lots of others. But my parents didn't want me getting involved with them. Luke Vane, that's my tutor. He said I had to learn some control over what I could do, whether I got involved with other wizards or not. I . . . I knew there was something different about you. I wasn't sure until yesterday, when I was playing around with this," he held up the empty bottle. "It's a potion. I knew your brother was a wizard, at least. And I knew Red-Hot was a potion, too. Wow."

Drew looked extremely shaken. "Matt, go get _Jamie_ out of the shed, and then find your mother and ask her to call Peter."

Stace took a step back toward the door. "What are you going to do?"

"It's okay, Stace," Drew said, smiling sickly as Matt ran to do his bidding. "I'm not trying to threaten you or trap you or anything. We just have a few things we need to rethink."

"Rethink? What do you mean?"

"Listen, Stace. We've known for weeks that Red-Hot was a potion, and we came to this school to try to find the distributor. We knew it was a teenager, and we wanted to catch their teacher, too. If you say it's not you, I believe you. We think it's Landon, too, that's why I was following him. Has your tutor ever said anything about other wizards that live here?"

"Mr. Vane's never said anything," he stammered. "I didn't think . . . I thought I was the only one here."

Jamie came in, looking excited. He zeroed in on Stace. "You're a wizard?"

"Yes, sir. I . . . I figured out you were, too, yesterday." He held up the bottle in his hand in illustration. "I can help you guys," he blurted out. "I can help you catch Landon."

Drew and Jamie looked at each other soberly, then shrugged.

"All right," Drew said to Stace. "When Peter gets here, we'll talk about it and find something for you to do."

"Okay." Stace was feeling overwhelmed. "You're all wizards, then? Your whole family?"

Matt, who had delivered Drew's request to his mother, returned. "Yes," he answered for all of them.

Douglas and Morgan came ambling in, looking unconcerned and unaware. "Hey, Drew, Jamie," Morgan said. "We were thinking."

"About Matt's birthday," Douglas clarified.

"We should have a real party, and invite some of the kids from the school, like Stace here."

"It would be more fun if we had enough people to play a few games or something."

Drew looked tired. "Not right now, boys. Jamie and I have to get some work done, we've got kind of a situation. I'm sorry."

Douglas and Morgan looked at all the serious faces around them, and then looked at each other and sighed.

"We've missed something," Morgan said.

"Again," Douglas added.

"Why are we always the last to know everything?"

"It's punishment because you're so rubbish at Quidditch," Matt said.

They stared at him, then their eyes slid over to Stace with the light of recognition. "Oooh," they said together.


	19. Chapter 18: We All Fall Down

Chapter Eighteen

We All Fall Down

"Draco, what's going on?"

"Huh?" he asked, looking up from a week's worth of Edward's daily written assignments.

"Ran says you've been kind of ignoring him and Vianne since they got here."

He frowned at that. "Have I? Damn, I don't mean to. There's just so much going on."

"You've got to make time for them, though."

He felt a shift in himself when Harry said that. He didn't need anyone to tell him that his family needed his attention. It was a matter of the timing of it. Vianne and the boys had come because the school was getting ready to start its two-week break, but they'd shown up before the break started, and he was busy right now. No one else could make this treatment for the kids who wanted so desperately to stop doing Red-Hot. He could stop teaching French class, but then he wouldn't be able to pump the kids for information about the dealers. Harry was counting on him for that help, and now he was criticizing him for working too hard at it?

"Look, Harry, it's a little easier for you, having your family here the whole time. But I've got to grade these assignments, and then I've got to go check on the potion . . . There are a lot of kids who are counting on me right now. Ran and Vianne understand that."

"They would, if you mentioned it to them."

"What do you mean?"

"They think you're avoiding them or something. You haven't even talked to them."

"I will. I'm going to. I just . . . need to finish this first."

"Are you afraid that they won't understand?" Harry asked, his voice going lower.

Draco gritted his teeth. "Why would you say that?"

"Because I know you. You're still afraid that Vianne is going to decide you were a mistake and leave. You'd rather not talk about it than have to realize she regrets marrying you."

"She doesn't," Draco said, hoping his voice didn't sound as fevered as it did in his head. He wasn't trying to convince himself of anything. "I know she doesn't. This summer's been hard, but we'll be okay, once we can go home."

Harry looked worried, and Draco didn't like that. At all. He ducked his head to look at Edward's assignments again.

"I'll talk to them today, Harry. Seriously. Just let me finish grading these."

"Okay," his friend said softly.

Draco went out back to check on the treatment potion.

* * *

Autumn didn't know what was wrong with her. Nothing was right. Her parents had come back into town on Sunday afternoon to find her laying in bed still. She hadn't left her bed since arguing with Stace on Saturday morning. She'd told them she was sick, but she saw the fear in their eyes. When her mother had forced her to take a shower while she made her something to eat, Autumn had seen herself in the mirror. She'd finally seen just what it was that had Stace acting so weird.

The truth was, it wasn't Stace acting weird. It was her. She stared at herself in the mirror and then climbed into the shower just like her mother said. She'd curled up on the floor of the tiled enclosure, the hot water streaming over her cold body, and she'd cried. She looked like a zombie. She looked disgusting. She had screamed at him and acted like a complete bitch, and all the while she looked like a scarecrow come to life, like from a horror movie. She cried while she pretended she was taking a shower, to please her mother. She was so tired. She was just so tired.

And now it was Monday, and she'd been forced to eat, and she'd rested the whole weekend, and still she felt listless and dull. They hadn't wanted to send her to school, but she had to come. She had to see Stace, and apologize. He'd been right, he'd been so right. She needed him. When she first got to school, she went to Flip, and got a water bottle. She had to wait in line, but she got one. Just one, this time. She needed to get through the day until she could see Stace and apologize. He had to listen. He had to see that she needed this energy that the drug gave her. There were so many things she was supposed to be doing, so many clubs and scholarships, and she just didn't have time for all of them unless she had the energy. And it made her feel so triumphant, like she could do anything if she wanted to. It was only when she came down off the drug that her luck started to change. Maybe with her water bottle, Stace would listen to her this time. She wouldn't yell at him anymore. She didn't need to. Stace was nothing if not reasonable.

She caught him after third period. "Stace, please, I want to talk to you," she said, pulling him aside between a couple rows of lockers, where they could be alone.

He looked different today, as he gazed at her. She couldn't say how. He looked stronger, but also sort of tired. Like he was finally feeling the confidence he'd always projected, but it was taking a toll on him.

"What is it?"

"Please, Stace. Don't leave me," she whispered, her fingers twining in his shirt and her eyes on the ground. She saw her feet shuffling restlessly. "I know you were right, I know I look awful. I know I should slow down. But I need _you_ to be able to do that."

"I don't want you to slow down, Autumn. I want you to stop."

"I can't, Stace. But let me explain this time. It's not an addiction, it's something I need, because I stay so busy. They have so many expectations, just like they do with you . . . you might try it, once in a while, you know. Just to give you a lift when the pressure is wearing you out. That's all I want it for. Just for a lift, just once in a while. I know you were right about using it too much. I'm sorry."

Stace was staring at her. She twisted one hand nervously in her hair, and the other hand stroked at the water bottle she'd tucked into the side pocket of her backpack. "What?"

"You honestly don't get it, do you?" he asked. He sounded sad. "Come to me when you really want help, Autumn, not just to make excuses for what you're doing."

"Hey!" she protested. "That's not what I'm doing, I—"

Stace yanked the water bottle from her backpack, drawing a gasp from her. "So you don't care if I just throw this away, right? Since there's nothing really stressful today, you don't need it, do you? It's nothing, no big deal."

"I paid good money for that!" she cried out, knowing it was going to become a scene if they didn't keep their voices down. She detested people who made scenes. "Give it back!"

"Why? It's just a pick-me-up, isn't it? You can do without." And he threw the water bottle against the lockers so hard that the plastic split open and the contents splashed across the lockers and soaked into the carpet.

"Oh, dammit, Stace!" she shouted, aghast. Her Red-Hot . . . She touched the lockers and her fingers came away wet. She stared at teh shining drops on her skin, then she touched her fingers to her lips and sucked at the moisture.

Stace made a disgusted noise. "I have nothing else to say to you, Autumn. Like I said, let me know when you really want help."

"Stace . . ."

"You want me to stand here and watch you suck it out of the carpet?" he shouted. "_Do you_?"

"I'm . . . I'm not going to . . ."

"Just forget it, Autumn."

Then Stace was gone. Autumn wanted to cry, but she didn't. She didn't feel great yet. That's why it hadn't worked, she hadn't finished the water bottle yet. She'd been rationing it out for the whole day. Now it was all gone. She went to find Flip.

"You want more, already?" Flip asked, sounding surprised.

"Stace broke mine," Autumn said, fidgeting and feeling her lip trembling with the beginning of tears. Why did he have to get so angry all the time? "You know what, Flip? I'll take my whole week's worth right now. Just the vials, I don't want water bottles." Taking everything from her now was smart. That way, if Flip ran out this week, Autumn already had her supply. She wouldn't have to go through the weekend feeling like shit. And she would feel good enough to search Stace out again and try to straighten things out.

Autumn downed one of the vials immediately. She hadn't eaten this morning, and without the water to dilute it, it burned her stomach intolerably. She gasped, and tears of pain came to her eyes, but after a minute, the pain went away and the heat, that delicious feeling of heat, spread through her. Now she was okay for the day. She felt better.

She felt lonely, though. It seemed like they were all lonely, like nobody was friends anymore. They were flushed and feverish and happy and excited, but they were all so distant from each other now. Like they couldn't talk to each other about Red-Hot, like it wasn't totally common for them. Like it was shameful, even though it wasn't. Maybe it was the others, the ones who were Cooling Down. Maybe they made everybody feel ashamed. It wasn't fair, making them feel like that. It was a personal choice. It was like Stace's attitude had infected the entire school. Autumn should be used to the school acting according to what Stacey Law thought, but she'd always been part of it, before. Now he was against her.

But with the Red-Hot in her, she felt confident. She could still get Stace to talk to her. Then she wouldn't have to feel lonely. She sought him out again at lunchtime.

"Stace, please . . ."

"Autumn, for God's sake, look at you. You're strung out like some homeless crack addict. Stay away from me."

Autumn was shocked. The Red-Hot had always made everything work in her favour before. Maybe it wasn't enough, this time. Maybe for something this big, to make a repair after such a huge fracture, it took more. She downed another vial, and felt the heat spread through her like fire. She crouched in the stall of the girls' room and moaned and tried not to scream. When she left the bathroom, she was trembling with energy. She could go out there and run a marathon right now, she was sure she could. She could get all her homework done, and her chores, and make her parents happy with her again. She was going to be lawyer, she'd always wanted to be, and she could make people listen to her. She could make Stace listen to her.

They had the same class in the afternoon, Mr. Phillips' biology class. When they went in the door, she tried again. "Stace, can we talk after school? Please?"

He didn't even look at her this time. She didn't want to cry in front of all her classmates, but she was confused. The good feeling wasn't ridding her of the pain in her breaking heart. Stace should be listening to her, he'd said he wanted to be with her. It couldn't be enough Red-Hot. When Mr. Phillips wasn't looking, she carefully drained another vial. She was using up her week's supply too quickly, but it didn't matter. She needed Stacey back.

Then she knew it, deep down in her gut, just like Kendall Steen must have known. The racing of her heartbeat was just too fast. She felt so hot, as though she were truly burning alive. She could see her hands scrabbling on the desk, but the pain in her chest, the pain of all that energy trying to claw out of her, was distracting her from relaxing her hands. She couldn't hold it all in any longer, she was going to explode, she—

"Mr. Phillips! Oh, god, no, no, please, Autumn!"

She gagged, she couldn't breathe, she was on the ground, she was shaking all over, she—

"Autumn!"

"Someone get Dr. Edwards!"

"Baby, please!"

"Dad!" Was that Adam shouting? "Dad, call an ambulance!"

* * *

Adam stormed through the school, intent on only one thing. Emma. Damn that girl straight to hell, she was the cause of all this. She was responsible for what was happening, for Autumn being rushed to the hospital with Dr. Edwards riding in the ambulance and trying to help her. It had been almost an hour, and they hadn't heard anything. What if she was dead? What if the girl Adam had loved for so long was dead? Autumn was beautiful, perfect, amazing (_Stacey's_, his mind whispered), and she didn't deserve this. He would kill Emma for this.

He found her walking to class, and he slammed her against the wall with his hands pinning her by her shoulders. The slender girl, dressed all in black and usually so creepy, looked terrified.

"This is your fault," he growled. "You brought Red-Hot here." Never mind that he used it, never mind that he _sold_ it, he hadn't started this whole thing. He was going straight to the source.

"No, I didn't," she squeezed out past the lump of fear in her throat. It made Adam feel good, to be found intimidating. The lanky son of the biology teacher never had been intimidating before, but he liked the fear in Emma's eyes. Without Stace's friendship, he had to create respect for himself. "It's not me. I'm just the distributor. I don't make it. I don't."

"Who does?"

She shook her head, closing her eyes. He shoved her hard, making her head bounce off the wall, and her eyes snapped open again.

"Who?"

"Landon," she whispered. "Landon Halsbeck, oh god, it's Landon, shit, I shouldn't have told you. I shouldn't have told you. He'll kill me."

Adam released her. "Not if I kill him first," he said. He left Emma there, crumpled up against the wall and breathing through an inhaler. He strode away, but his mind was suddenly collapsing, all his heady anger turning to confusion. Landon? Landon couldn't be making Red-Hot. Landon was the only friend he had left, now . . . Landon knew that Adam was selling Red-Hot, why wouldn't he ever have said anything? Why would he care if Adam knew it was him? Adam would never have ratted him out. This was the first time Adam had ever made any money, and he needed the money. He didn't come from a rich family like the rest of these kids.

_Of course he didn't tell you_, Adam thought to himself. _He was only protecting himself. He did this. He did it on purpose. My god, he's doing it for Shawn Randall._

"He's pretended to be my friend all this time to watch us all get destroyed," Adam whispered out loud. His fury came back, strong and pounding at his ribcage. Landon's revenge had come for Autumn, for wonderful, gorgeous, Autumn, and Adam couldn't forgive him for that. But Adam couldn't go after Landon alone, either.

He found a couple of guys who were looking to do him favours. It wasn't hard. He sold Red-Hot. They would do anything for him.

* * *

Landon sat under the bleachers, finishing off the cigarette he'd lifted from the back pocket of some rich chump at Circle K this morning. The father of one of his fellow students, no doubt, there because he needed a pack of gum. Landon dropped into Circle K for a cup of coffee once in a while, unwilling to pay for the extravagantly priced Starbucks coffee that only funded their stupid trendy vibe. The coffee was the same everywhere.

He was having a serious problem. He'd been followed home the other day, by two people. One was an older guy, the other a teenager, one of his classmates. The teenager had been running too fast to identify, and the older guy hadn't been anybody Landon recognized. He hadn't understood it, but he had today. He'd suddenly noticed the fear in the eyes of the other kids. They were afraid of him. Why?

They thought he was supplying the Red-Hot. Landon stayed far away from the drug, and he had no idea who even sold it or what channels it went through, other than Adam. Adam was selling it, God knew why. Landon figured he just wanted the money. Landon could sympathize, but he preferred his way of making money. He was designing websites. He didn't let on what a computer geek he was, but there was a ton of cash to be made in website design. He'd wanted Adam to work on it with him, maybe give up the Red-Hot that was making him act like such a freak, but Adam was already too far gone.

Landon had liked the Red-Hot, at first. He thought it was funny. Somebody had gotten the same idea he had gotten, about finding a way to let the school destroy itself. But he was sickened by how far it had gone. He wouldn't even talk about it now, not even to Adam, not even happy as he was to have that friendship back. Adam was his only friend, but the drug was keeping them apart.

"Hey," someone said, and Landon dropped the cigarette into the dirt, thinking a teacher had come out here to catch him. But when he looked, it was a few of the kids who played football in the fall. They'd already started training for next football season, and these ones looked like Red-Hot users. Great. That was just great.

"What do you want?" Landon asked, not meeting their eyes. Meeting their eyes was like staring at a gorilla, a challenge that they would feel the need to meet.

"We just had a message for you, from Adam."

"Adam? What does he want?" Landon stepped out from underneath the bleachers.

"He says, 'This is for Autumn.'"

Then the world started turning in crazy circles, going black and red and turning to flashes of light, all mixed together with an unimaginable amount of pain. Landon knew he was screaming, but he couldn't help it. He had no chance, not against three of them. What was going on? His mind tried to understand, but it was too hard to grasp when boys twice your size had you on the ground and were kicking you until you wondered if you were even going to live.

"Why?!" he managed to scream.

"For making Red-Hot," one of them replied.

"But I—" he whispered, and choked on the taste of blood.

A foot caught him in the head, and the circles and red and flashes all went to black.


	20. Chapter 19: Too Many Unknowns

Chapter Nineteen

Too Many Unknowns

The sirens never stopped, Stace thought, sitting with his head in his hands, his disheveled, highlighted, stylish hair an absolute mess. The ambulances were coming and going from the hospital all the time. They'd had to air-vac Landon here because Greenwood's little hospital couldn't handle it, and they were afraid he'd die if they took the time to drive. Sirens, all the time. The sirens for Kendall, and then for Autumn, and now for Landon. They'd been friends, once. Adam had been able to be friends with him again, but when Autumn overdosed, Adam had done this. Nobody said it, but everybody knew. It was Adam. Stace didn't know anything, he decided. His oldest friend in the world wasn't going to have Stace to blame when he went down.

Stace couldn't look at Landon, but he couldn't make himself leave the hospital room, either. Landon's foster parents had gotten tired and gone home to get some sleep, but Stace had stayed. He wanted to be there when Landon woke up, to get an answer from him. Adam had gone after him because he was manufacturing the Red-Hot that had nearly killed Autumn, and Stace had to know why.

Landon looked like he would never wake up, Stace thought, and his hands, curled in his hair, trembled. Autumn was in the hospital in Greenwood, but she'd be fine, Dr. Edwards had already started treating her, and she was just sleeping off the effects of the overdose, not slipping into a ghastly three-week coma like Kendall had. But Landon . . .

Stace raised his head to look. Landon's head and face were bandaged, and swollen almost beyond recognition. His chest was wrapped up tight to hold his broken ribs together. His broken wrist was encased in plaster, as was his broken ankle, which Frankie had stomped on. His whole body was a mass of bruises. It made Stace sick, to realize anyone, much less his own classmates, were capable of that kind of violence to another human being. It was terrible to even think on, and now they were facing the consequences of it.

He lowered his head into his hands again and wished he could sleep.

"Hey," a scratchy voice whispered. "What are you doing here?"

Stace looked at Landon with disbelief. "You're awake?"

"Apparently. Where the hell am I?"

"The hospital."

Landon lifted his head a little, trying to look around, but he couldn't do it, and his eyes shut tight with a little sob of pain. "Ow."

"How do you feel, man?"

"I feel like shit."

"That's good, 'cause you look like shit."

"Stace, what are you doing here?"

"I had to know, Landon: why?"

"Why what?"

"The Red-Hot. How could you do that to everyone?"

Landon looked at Stace with confusion. "That's what they said . . . Frankie and the rest. They said it was from Adam, for Autumn. But— Stace, it's not me. Why does everybody think it's me?"

Stace stood up, dread in his throat and in his stomach, tickling him with nausea. "What do you mean, it's not you?"

"What I said," he replied, still whispering and gasping at the pain in his ribs. "I don't have anything to do with Red-Hot."

"But you've had all that money, lately."

"I have a job, stupid."

"And . . and you hate all of us."

"And that means I'm making Red-Hot? Don't you think the jury voting on some pretty damned circumstantial evidence?"

"But Emma . . . she said it was you. Right in front of God and everybody, she said she was getting it from you."

Landon was struggling to get up, fighting the pain and the restraints of tubes and wires. "I don't know what her problem is, but—" He tried to use his broken wrist to get up and fell back on the bed, which made him go white as sheet and sob out, "oh, shit."

"Landon, relax," Stace said in alarm. "Don't try to get up. It's bad, man, you're beat up really bad. Be careful."

"Are the cops involved?" Landon asked, his eyes wild. "Am I going to be arrested?"

"I don't know," Stace said grimly. "The cops are here. They're just down in the cafeteria right now." There were footsteps in the hallway, and he heard their voices. "Never mind, they're here."

Drew, Jamie, Detective Bernard, and the man calling himself Mark that Stace hadn't quite figured out yet all shuffled in. That Mark guy was weird. He was positive that Mark was not his real name, and his blond hair looked like a dye job.

"Stace, why don't you head back," Jamie began, then noticed that Landon was awake. "Mr. Halsbeck," he said formally. "We—"

"_You're_ the cops? The subs?"

"Actually, I'm the cop in the family," Drew volunteered. "But then we've got Chris, here, and Mark."  
"But I haven't done anything," Landon protested. "I swear to you, I don't do drugs, I don't make drugs, I don't even know _how_ to make drugs. Red-Hot isn't me."

They all stared at him flatly, obviously not believing him.

"I'm serious," he insisted. "I'm being set up. I don't know why Emma is trying to do this, I swear I don't. It's not me."

Stace had never seen Landon look like this, not since Shawn had died. He looked like he would cry.

Jamie spoke up. "Let's talk to the nurse and get him something for the pain. We can talk to him in the morning. It's not fair to try to do this right now, he's practically out of his mind."

"You're right," Drew said, giving a hard look to the other two. "He's in a lot of pain right now, and it's not right to try to question him like this."

Stace had found himself respecting Drew and Jamie more and more the last few days, as he continued to stay with them and the rowdy bunch of boys in the house—even if Jamie was acting a little distant. Having them stick up for Landon, even though he was a criminal, just made him respect them all the more. Mark looked like he wanted to argue, but he seemed like a very hard man, definitely not one you'd want to cross, and Stace wasn't sure about him.

"I want to see this girl Emma here. Now," Mark barked out. "One of these two is lying, and I say we let them fight it out."

The detective laid a placating hand on the man's arm, and Stace frowned. That was kind of personal contact for a couple of cops, wasn't it? "These are kids. We need to do this right. We need to get their parents down here before we start interrogating anyone."

"We'll be waiting a while," Landon mumbled.

"What?"

"Never mind. Where are my _foster_ parents?" he asked, and he looked at Stace. "Were they here?"

"Yeah," Stace nodded. "They just left to go get some sleep. If you call them, they're probably not even all the way home yet," he said, looking to Drew. He didn't really like Mark, and he didn't trust the detective, but he'd spent the last several days sleeping on Drew's couch and realizing that the magical world was a lot bigger than he'd ever imagined it to be. This was a man he could talk to. "I don't know about her parents, but I've got Emma's phone number," he added, taking out his cell phone and scrolling through his phone book. He didn't know _why_ he had Emma's phone number, and he didn't remember why it had seemed like a good idea to put it in his phone, but there it was.

The adults all left to do various things. Drew went to call Greg and Kim, Landon's foster parents, and call Emma. Mark and Detective Bernard went to go get a cup of coffee, probably so the detective could update Mark on proper police procedure. Jamie claimed he wasn't needed here, and he decided to go back to Greenwood to check on Autumn. When he said that, Stace felt the bottom of his stomach fall out all over again. He'd noticed Autumn getting more and more wasted all day, but he'd never thought . . . It had been just like it was with Kendall. She looked sunburnt and sweaty, and moving like her clothes were full of fire ants, then suddenly she was on the floor foaming at the mouth and jerking with jolts of violent energy trying to escape her. Stace hadn't thrown up this time, though. He'd been too sick to throw up. He still felt cold and ill, as much from that as from staring at the battered face of a boy who'd been one of his best friends, once.

Red-Hot had done this. Whoever had created Red-Hot, Landon or Emma or someone else, this was their fault, all of it. How could anyone be this reckless? Didn't they see what they were doing to this town, to the school? It might be a selfish place, it might be stereotyped and boring, but it was Stace's home. It was his school. And he was angry. He was angry with Autumn, he was angry with Emma and Landon and Adam and he was really angry with whichever of his classmates was doing this.

"Landon, I'm sorry," he blurted out, and he blinked in surprise that he'd spoken. He hadn't even realized he was still in Landon's room. Landon had barely been awake, and the nurse was standing next to his bed messing with his IV. Stace hadn't noticed, but suddenly this apology seemed very urgent. "I'm sorry about what happened. I shouldn't have . . . Adam and I, we should have . . ." He sighed, and collected his thoughts. "You were a good friend to us, and we weren't fair to you. It wasn't right for us to do what we did, and I'm sorry. I'm sorry that Adam did this to you." For some reason, it was Autumn's face in his mind, Autumn looking pale and awful, and he knew he'd lost her forever, whether she recovered from this addiction or not. "I'm just really sorry about everything," he muttered, and he knew he was going to cry. He wouldn't let Landon see that, so he hurried out of the room, swiping his eyes and hoping the other boy wouldn't notice.

"Uhhh . . . thanks," Landon said to the woman who'd injected a stronger medication into his IV. He knew he was about to fall asleep again, and he wished Stace hadn't left so fast. He wouldn't be awake when Stace came back, to tell him it wasn't really his fault . . . His eyes closed, and he drifted on a fog of pain and medicated confusion. He didn't know what was happening.

* * *

When he woke up, Emma was staring at him. He blinked his heavy eyelids and frowned at her. "What are you doing here?"

He looked around. The room was full of people. The history sub was here again, with those two cops, and Greg and Kim were here. Emma was here, and the people standing behind her must be her parents. He tried to wake up fully, to clear his head of the fuzziness so he could make sense of everything, but he couldn't. He was swimming. He felt like he was swimming. He couldn't even feel his body, much less the pain of the broken bones in it.

"It's you, you creep," she said, sounding angry. "There's not much point in lying now, is there?"

"What?"

"Red-Hot, Landon. Don't play stupid now. I've been meeting with you once a week since this spring, and I'm done now. Consider this my resignation. I don't want to be your dealer anymore."

"Dealer? But I'm not . . ."

"Don't you see what's happening?" Emma blurted out. "God, Landon, don't you see what you're doing to the school?"

"I'm not doing anything," he said. Now he remembered. That was the message from Adam, too. That was why he was in the hospital. "Emma, I don't meet with you. I don't know what you're talking about."

"I don't think you should do this right now," Greg said, looking at the lady cop. "He can barely keep his eyes open. I don't think he knows what he's saying."

"I know," Landon objected. Greg couldn't tell him what he knew, he thought with as much indignity as he could muster up. "I just don't know what _Emma's_ saying," he added, feeling triumphant for managing it.

"I'm saying you make Red-Hot, you've been having me sell it for you, and I think things will be better for us if you just admit it," Emma said, shooting a frightened look at the police. Her parents didn't look too happy, Landon noticed.

"Why do you keep saying that?" Landon asked, feeling frustrated enough to cry. "I don't know why you're saying that. I haven't been doing that. I hardly even know you."

The teacher, Drew, he suddenly drew in a breath loud enough to make everyone look at him.

"Landon," he said, his face very concerned. "Do you know of anyone who would want to frame you for this? Anyone who might be angry with you?"

Landon shook his head. "No," he said in exhaustion, wishing they would all go away now.

Drew was looking at the guy named Mark now. He pantomimed taking a drink of something, and Mark jerked like Drew had slapped him.

"Oh, fuck," Mark breathed out. "You think . . ."

Drew looked at the lady detective. "It's not Landon. Landon's telling the truth, he doesn't know what Emma's talking about."

"Like hell he doesn't!" Emma fumed. "I've been—"

"Emma, I know you think you have. But it's not Landon."

She opened her mouth to object again, but the look on his face of such superior knowledge and serious concern made her close it.

"We've got a problem," Drew said to Mark.

"Well, no shit."

"Emma, Evan and Marie, we need to talk to you guys privately. Greg, Kim, I'm sorry that Landon's been involved in all this. Let's let him get some sleep."

_Good idea_, Landon thought with all his current brainpower. "Hey, Stace," he said, and heard his voice slurring. That was strange, and now he couldn't remember if Stace was still here or not. "Stace, s'not your fault. S'mine . . ."

He sunk under again.


	21. Chapter 20: The Calm Before the Storm

_Warning: Longest Freaking Chapter Ever._

_Sorry, but I couldn't break it down into two chapters, it just had to be one. That said, this is the best chapter in this story so far (at least to me). Hope you all enjoy it._

_Noontide and laurasedai are still my heroes, Arctic Fire and Dark Kizuna are getting close to it, and a special thanks to my new friend tabbymalfoy19. You guys are all awesome and I love you!_

_Enjoy!_

_Faren_

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Chapter Twenty

The Calm Before the Storm

Matt's birthday celebration fell on a day of beautiful weather that allowed them all one brief moment to pretend they could relax. Emma had a scheduled meeting with her supplier a few days away, Autumn was being released from the hospital today, and Landon was staying awake long enough to get bored but not released yet. Nothing was settled but there was nothing to do, and the tension was tangible.

Harry felt terrible that the day they'd planned to celebrate his son's birthday had to be so stressful, but Matt seemed to be enjoying it anyway. Hank and Cristina, plus Stace Law, Kendall Steen, and Edward Cavanaugh had been invited to join them, and they were having a picnic in Greenwood's excellently designed park. Even more fun were their other two guests. Being so close to Hermione, Harry had invited the Simpsons down to celebrate Matt's birthday with them. Hermione and Jonah had both been too busy to come, but Maggie and Jean-Luc were here, playing with their cousins.

A ball went flying past Harry, who was grilling hamburgers, and Matt ran past him to get it, while all the boys shouted and catcalled to mock Ran's awkward kick. The poor boy had somehow grown even more over the summer, and he had to be 62 or 63 by now. He was going to get to six and a half feet before he was done, but right now he was still trying to catch up with himself. Still, looked like he was having fun. Stace, who had been aghast to discover that none of the English boys knew how to play "soccer," was teaching them. Ginny, true to form, had joined in, and so had Hank. It was kind of funny to watch Stace waver back and forth as he tried to find the right attitude to project toward his principal while he was playing a game with him. It was also funny to watch his wife pick up the game with ease and see all the boys forced to admit they were being soundly trounced by a girl.

Vianne and Draco, as usual, were lost in their own little world. They were laying on a blanket enjoying the sunshine, murmuring together and kissing softly and all manner of gag-inducing things. Harry was quite positive that he and Ginny had never acted so ridiculous with each other, not even when they'd been teenagers still discovering dating. Actually, when he looked closely . . . he frowned. It looked more like they were arguing, now. Harry thought he knew why. Vianne hadn't been looking very healthy this summer, probably just from being alone with the huge responsibility of the Manor, and Draco was worried about her. Harry was actually a little upset with his friend. If Draco was so concerned, he ought to be spending more time with her. Today was the first day he'd seen Draco exchange more than a few words with his family. He'd been sticking around the school later and later, basking in the warm glow of appreciation that the students had for him. He was also spending a ton of time out in the garden shed, and he was looking worn out. It wasn't right.

A shriek from behind him made Harry turn around to check on the younger kids. Charley, Maggie, and Jean-Luc were happily enjoying the swings and monkey bars. Crash, however, was chasing Cristina all over the place while she hollered for help with enough drama to deserve an Oscar nomination. When she'd first screamed, Hank had barely even looked up, just told her to keep it down. He was well-used to his daughter's acting skills by now.

Harry turned the hamburgers over, flicking a glance over to their other two guests to be sure they weren't bored to tears. Kendall, who was looking really great, was laying on her back on a blanket in the grass, holding a notebook above her and reading whatever Edward had just written. Edward was sitting cross-legged next to her, alternating between watching the other boys and watching Kendall speak. The sun was good for Kendall, who was getting some natural colour now. And, as Draco had said earlier, it was good for Edward to get to hang out with the other teenagers. He was rarely invited to do anything with the other kids at Greenwood, because they found it awkward. Edward had quite cheerfully admitted that he didn't really blame them and it left him plenty of time to keep up with his schoolwork and stay in shape. Apparently, Edward was quite a runner. But it was easy to see how much he was enjoying being here, and just talking to Kendall.

"Hey!" Harry shouted as loudly as he could, trying to be heard over the kids hollering and the boys ribbing each other. "Food's almost ready!"

The boys cheered hoarsely at that and stopped their game. Kendall poked Edward, who'd been watching them, and repeated Harry's announcement. The boys all went to the ice chest Ginny and Vianne had figured out how to Transfigure out of an old flower box they'd found in the garden shed at the house, pulling out bottles of water. Ginny and Hank went over to the playground to round up the kids.

Matt and Ran came directly over to Harry and the grill, looking famished. According to Vianne, they had been eating nonstop the whole summer. Harry wasn't surprised. Matt was going to top six feet before he was done growing, though he wouldn't catch up Ran, and he was well on his way there already. Harry was just glad that Sirius was turning out just like him, or he'd probably end up feeling very disgruntled about being the shortest member of his family.

After a few moments of bustle and confusions and a lot of requests for the bottle of ketchup, they were all sitting in various positions on blankets, ignoring the picnic tables in favour of stretching out in the sun and relaxing in the cushion of the grass. There were so many things to worry about, but today they were ignoring them. Matt had actually turned fourteen several weeks ago, but who was counting, anyway?

Doug and Morgan took their food and sat down with Kendall and Edward, striking up a conversation and asking them a ton of really ridiculous questions about America. The two American teenagers seemed to warm up to them immediately, but that was Morgan and Doug. Everybody liked them. They didn't try to hide themselves anymore, but they still didn't even really call themselves gay. They didn't go looking at other boys, it was simply that their friendship had no boundaries whatsoever. They were so obviously _together_, whether they called themselves a couple or not. They made everyone around them feel comfortable and relaxed, and they were good to have around right now, whether planned for or not. Harry could swear they were just here for the adventure of it, not because they didn't want to go home.

Harry heard the word "Quidditch" from the other boys, and he turned to look at his son sharply. Matt could discuss the game all he liked with Stace when they were in the house and it was just wizards, but with Hank and the other teenagers here, it was not a good idea, even if no one was paying attention. Ginny had noticed, too, and was enthusing about football/soccer to Hank to keep him from glancing that way. Hank was far more concerned with keeping his daughter from squirting mustard all over Sirius. Harry honestly couldn't tell whether those two were bitterest enemies or dearest friends at this point. The last he'd heard, they hated each other forever, but they sure were staring at each other a lot. He nabbed the ketchup bottle from Crash before the boy could start threatening Cristina with it, and sighed. He'd hoped for a few more years before Crash discovered girls. Matt hadn't even started pursuing them yet, where did Crash get it from?

Doug, Morgan, Kendall, and Edward all got up and headed off somewhere, probably toward the building with the restrooms down at the end of the park. Harry decided everybody was fine without being watched like a hawk, and turned his attention to his niece, who was picking at her food.

"Is something wrong, Maggie?"

"No, I'm just not hungry," she said softly. She looked up at him, and Harry smiled with encouragement. He had a very soft spot for Maggie, and she knew it. She was Ron's daughter, she looked a great deal like her aunt Ginny and cousin Charlotte, and she was a really responsible and bright child just like her mother. Harry couldn't help but love her.

"You sure you don't want to talk about it?" he prompted, seeing that the other kids were distracted by the food and not paying attention.

"I want to go to Hogwarts, Uncle Harry. Not now, I mean next year when I'm old enough."

"I see."

"I was just thinking about it because Crash was talking about it with the older boys. It's where my mother and father both went, and I want to go there, too."

"Do Hermione and Jonah know that?"

She shook her head. Frizzy strands of red hair that had escaped from her braid floated around her face. "It's far away from them, and they might think I don't love them anymore."

"I don't think they'd feel that way at all," Harry assured her. "I've known your mom forever, Maggie. She'd understand if it was important to you."

"Yeah, probably."

"Do you want me to ask her about it?"

"No. I should tell her myself."

Merlin, was this girl really only ten years old? Harry had figured her for a Ravenclaw if she ever did go to Hogwarts, there was no way a kid raised by Hermione and Jonah wouldn't be, but if there had been any doubt . . . No longer.

"All right. But you don't have to do it today, you know." He smiled at her, and lifted her face with a gentle hand. "Chin up, you're British, after all."

She smiled at that, and went back to eating. Ginny was looking at Harry with a funny little smile.

"What?"

"I always knew you'd be good with kids."

"And?"

"And you are," she said, and kissed him on the cheek. "You worked hard enough for that hamburger, now eat it," she scolded.

"Yes, ma'am," he said, and pecked her cheek in reply.

"Gross," Sirius muttered.

"Yeah," Jean-Luc added, looking revolted.

Harry and Hank exchanged amused looks. If Sirius thought kissing was so gross . . .

"Come on, let's go play!" Charley said, putting aside her barely-touched food. Ginny started to say something, but Harry nudged her.

"It's a good day to play," he murmured, as the other kids got up and followed his rambunctious daughter. Maggie primly wiped her mouth with her napkin first, and she actually took her paper plate to the garbage can.

Kendall came wandering back from the restrooms alone.

"Where are the boys?" Harry asked her.

She shrugged. "When I came out of the bathroom, I heard Morgan shouting something about getting splashed. I think they're horsing around down at the creek over there." She smiled sadly. "I'm feeling a little too tired to join them."

"Do you want to go home?"

"No," she said firmly. "Jamie says it's better if I spend as much time as possible around other people. He says I should keep my mind off things. Eddie's been helping, but sometimes . . ." She shrugged again. "I think I'll go sit with Stace."

Harry stole a glance at Draco. He was watching Kendall with a frown drawing a line in his forehead. He seemed to relax when she plopped down next to Stace and shyly addressed Matt.

"I forgot to wish you a happy birthday."

Draco's attention returned to his wife, who had laid her head on his chest and fallen asleep. He looked very absorbed in his own thoughts, so Harry left him alone and just chatted with Hank and Ginny. Once they had caught Emma's supplier—for Merlin's sake, how many wizards could there _be_ in one town?—they could all go home, and maybe the sudden distance between Draco and Vianne would be repaired. She probably wasn't very happy with being sort of abandoned and left in charge of everything like that.

Kendall looked all right, Harry decided. Draco was right, being around the others was good for her, in more ways than one. She needed the distraction from her lingering drug cravings, and also from her grief about what had happened to Tim. It might help once they had discovered what exactly had happened to him. On the whole, she actually looked a bit better than Ran, who was starting to look ill. That was likely because the full moon was tonight, and as the afternoon lengthened, Ran was beginning to feel it. They should probably wrap things up soon and get him out of here.

Harry, while searching the forest, had discovered an unfinished cabin not too far from town, but far enough into the woods that no one would come there. Draco was going to take Ran out there in a couple of hours. Draco had been so distracted lately, between teaching his French class, cooking up batches of what they were calling "Cool-Down," and running back and forth between hospitals in the course of their investigation, it was good that he was going to get to spend some time with Ran tonight, even if it was under less than ideal circumstances. Harry couldn't even remember where Draco had found the time to make Ran's potion for tonight.

Cristina screamed again like she was being murdered while Harry was cleaning up their mess from the food. Hank, who was picking up the used plates, rolled his eyes.

"Daddy!" Charley shouted. "_Daddy_!"

Harry's head jerked up, and so did Ginny's. As he spun, he saw Draco lifting Vianne off him and getting up. Matt had jumped up from the blanket where the teenagers were sitting.

"Oh, no," he muttered, breaking into a sprint before he had fully processed it in his mind. He had reached Crash before anyone even had time to ask what was going on.

Cristina was standing over Crash, shrieking. Crash was laying on the ground, sheet-white and staring numbly at his outstretched arm. He'd climbed up on top of the monkey bars and fallen off them, and now his arm was broken. Broken _bad_.

"Oh, Sirius, oh, son," Harry muttered, going to his knees and his hands trembling. He put his hand on Crash's head, and Crash gasped. He was in shock, Harry realized. He should be. The bone of his arm was jutting out of his skin in a bloody mess.

"Dad, it hurts," he whimpered. "It really hurts."

"I know, baby," he said, moving his hand through Crash's hair. "I know it does."

"Fix it, Dad, please hurry."

Ginny was there, too, and they stared at each other with wide eyes. There was absolutely no way Harry could _not_ fix this right now. Hank, Cristina, and Kendall Steen be damned, he wasn't going to leave Sirius like this all the time it would take to get him to the hospital and have it put together by Muggles.

"Draco!" Harry shouted, too flustered to realize he'd just used his real name. "I need—"

"I'm right here," Draco said, his voice nearly in Harry's ear. He peered at Crash's injury and winced. "Oh, boy." He lowered his voice. "Do you want me to take care of Hank first, then the girls?"

"Yes, please," Harry said, trying to calm down. This would be no big deal if they were home, he told himself. It was just gruesome. It wasn't like the time he'd woken up from a nap and found Sirius dying of blood loss with his leg sitting three feet away. This wasn't going to get into the newspapers. Well. He hoped it didn't, anyway. That sort of depended on how quickly Draco could act while Harry was doing this.

"Hold really still, then, okay?" he said quietly. Ginny had her hands on Sirius's shoulders, her face pale. Harry pulled his wand out from under his shirt, decided the scolding he'd get for having it on him was worth it. He made short work of the broken bone, but the badly torn skin was a more finicky matter, and he was grateful when Ginny put her hand on his arm to steady his nerves before he closed the wound.

"What did you just do?" Hank asked, his golden-brown skin going pale. He started saying— he seemed to be praying, in Spanish.

Vianne was there, and she had knelt down in front of Cristina, who was crying. She and her husband spoke at almost the same moment.

"Oblivate."

Hank and Cristina stood there with blank eyes. Harry forced out a laugh, and they both jerked in surprise.

"You gave us quite a scare, didn't you?" he asked Crash jovially, helping him up. "You need to be more careful, or you'll really get hurt next time." He looked up at Hank and gave him a weak grin. "Your daughter sure has a pair of lungs on her, doesn't she?"

"Yeah," Hank said automatically. "She's . . ."

"Hardly even bruised, though," Harry continued, sending off a slightly bemused Crash with a little push. "Nothing to worry about. I swear, that boy is indestructible."

Hank smiled at that, still seeming a bit confused, and followed Harry and Ginny back to clean up the rest of their meal. Kendall was standing there dumbstruck, staring at Harry with her hand pressed over her mouth. She was absolutely still with amazement. Draco approached her cautiously.

"It's all right, Kendall," he said cheerfully. "He's not hurt."

"But you . . ." she muttered.

Draco whispered the spell too quietly for Hank to hear, and Vianne had stepped in front of him to hide his wand. Kendall froze for a moment.

"It's all right," he repeated. "Crash isn't hurt, he was just a little shaken up. He's fine."

"Oh," she said, and nodded cautiously. "Okay."

Stace's eyes were wide, and Harry felt bad for him. He likely had never seen anything like that before. At least Harry hoped this Mr. Vane of his wasn't teaching him spells like that yet. He was too young to be able to handle that kind of thing responsibly yet, let alone when he was as isolated from the wizarding community as he was. Something like this might scare him into avoiding them even more. This was turning out to be a hell of a day to send him back home to his parents, but he had to. For one thing, there was really no excuse for Stace not to go talk to his folks and repair things with them after an entire week, but it was mostly so he couldn't ask where Ran and Draco were going all night.

Doug, Morgan, and Edward strolled back over just then. They looked at the slightly stunned group.

"Did we miss something again?" Morgan sighed dramatically.

"Well," Harry began, ready to say it hadn't been anything, but he stopped. He stared at them. "Actually, I think we missed something this time."

Edward was walking between the two wizards, looking a bit flushed, and Harry's first thought was that the idiot had been taking Red-Hot and he would kill him. Then he snorted, trying not to laugh. Flushed, his longish black hair tumbling wildly around his face, his lips bright red, and a look of supreme satisfaction all over him. Doug and Morgan had similar expressions. Both of them. Merlin.

"Eddie?" Kendall blurted out.

Stace made a noise that sounded something like pixy being gutted.

You had to give the kid credit for attitude. Without missing a beat, Edward slipped his left arm into Doug's, his right into Morgan's, and led the two boys back to the blanket they'd absented close to an hour ago, pulling them down with him. All three of them ended up in an awkward pile that quickly straightened itself into a comfortable arrangement in which Edward sat with Morgan leaning lazily against his shoulder and Doug's head resting on his leg.

Kendall giggled, and the frozen moment broke. Matt and Ran looked at each other, coughed, and asked Stace to show them something they hadn't been able to get right earlier with the soccer ball. Stace jumped forward with the ball gladly, and Kendall strolled over to sit by the three boys who were laughing at everyone. The adults all jumped back into cleaning up.

They let the kids play for another half hour before rounding them up to go home. All the teenagers kept bursting into random fits of the giggles, but the adults stoically ignored it. None of their business, they told themselves. Poor Hank was probably going to get a really interesting phone call from Veronica Cavanaugh, but luckily for him, they were on their two-week break from school right now. Assuming Edward didn't decide he'd rather his parents didn't know.

Well, Edward was a good kid, and Doug and Morgan, for all their pranks and jokes, were good boys, too. Harry wasn't worried about it.

He was really worried about Draco, though, he realized as they went back to the house. He had just been acting so . . . well, the last week or so, he'd been acting so aloof. Arrogant. Harry had to talk to the man before he and Ran left.

"So, how is Mr. Pendragon, sir?"

"Huh?" Draco responded, sounding distracted, as he bottled up Ran's potion to bring into the house. He didn't seem to have realized that Harry had followed him out to the shed, and didn't seem to care.

"Oh, sorry, you're all about the Muggles these days, aren't you? Should I be asking if you've calmed many storms lately?"

"What?" Draco asked, turning around with a frown. Well, at least he was paying attention.

"You're acting weird," Harry said plainly. "You're acting like you've single-handedly saved this town from ruin."

Draco looked frosty at that. "Well, I've invented a potion that will—"

"I'm not saying your drug therapy isn't amazing, because it is. It is a testament to your intelligence, creativity, and hard work. But if you're such a savior, you mind raising Tim Farella from the dead?"

"What is this?" Draco spat out. "I'm not trying to be a savior, that's your job. I'm just trying to help."

Harry hadn't realized quite how frustrated he was with Draco, but he couldn't seem to hold back these ugly words he hadn't planned to say.

"Listen, Draco. I've got eyes in my head. You've been neglecting your wife and son, who are here just to see you. Vianne has been acting weird, but instead of figuring out what's wrong with her, you're retreating in return and spending all your time with these students who suddenly think you're their hero. And now I'm going to say something you're really not going to like. I get that you're a flirt by nature, but not getting any at home is not a good reason to let a bunch of teenaged girls flock around you."

Draco's face flooded with pure rage, and Harry felt like he'd gone too far. Still, he didn't allow Draco the chance to defend himself.

"The case isn't over yet. We haven't solved anything. It's a little early for the victory celebration, all right?"

"Who's celebrating?"

"I'm not an idiot."

"Neither am I, Potter."

"I know that. Why don't you put your vast intelligence to work then, and try to remember when you last called me that."

"Called you what?" Then Draco blinked, and his face changed. "Did I just . . . Harry . . ."

"You and Ran should get going," Harry said. "And do try to make him feel like you still care about him, okay?" He pivoted around and got the hell out of that shed. He felt like he was suffocating. He hadn't known how angry he was, and it had taken voicing his thoughts to make him realize that right now, his best friend reminded him of the boy he'd always referred to as "Malfoy." Harry felt like he hadn't made any real contributions to this case, and Draco had. Apparently Draco was feeling that way, too.

"I knew this whole thing was a bad idea," he whispered.

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"What do you mean, Doug?" Harry asked, his voice shaking with his struggle to stay calm.

"Just what I said. Edward wanted to know if you had to use magic to play Quidditch, so I thought . . . I thought you had told him about us or something. I didn't think it was a problem. We told him how to play Quidditch. He didn't look that surprised, or anything." Doug took in Harry's expression and gripped Morgan's hand for support. "I thought he already knew."

Morgan jumped in. "So then we asked him how come you'd told him about it, and he said you didn't. He said he just figured it out. Well, he wrote it, I mean, he can't talk, but . . ." He gulped. "He said that people forget he knows what they're saying and they say all kinds of stuff around him. He saw you and Professor Malfoy talking about magic before, and then he saw Matt and Stace talking about Quidditch yesterday."

Harry let out a deep breath. "I see. Well, I didn't know it was possible for Edward to be smarter than we realized, but apparently he is. Merlin, that boy is smart." Harry frowned. "And he was _okay_ with this? I mean, you guys . . ."

Doug shrugged casually, but he was still gripping Morgan's hand. "He thought it was, um," he looked down, "sort of sexy. We weren't exactly planning on _seducing_ him or anything."

Harry burst out laughing, and the boys looked up hopefully.

"Merlin, on top of everything else," Harry chuckled. "Edward Cavanaugh not only falls in love with you—with _both_ of you—he also finds out an entire family of wizards and witches has descended on his quiet village."

The boys laughed with him, still looking uneasy. This would have been so much easier with Professor Malfoy, but the professor was gone with Ran still, and they'd thought it was too important not to say anything.

"Harry?"

Still laughing with relief that this wasn't a more serious problem, Harry turned to Vianne. His laughter died. She looked upset.

"Harry, where's Draco and Ran?"

Harry looked at his watch. It was close to nine o'clock. The sun had been up for at least two hours.

"They're not back yet," he said in confusion.

Vianne's arms slowly wrapped around herself. "Harry . . ." she whispered. "I have a bad feeling about this."

Harry could feel his heart picking up speed. "They probably decided to walk back through the woods or something," he said. "They're just enjoying themselves." But something scary was in those woods lately, Harry knew it, whether he'd been able to find it or not. Those woods contained some wizard who knew about Polyjuice Potion and about ensnaring teenagers with drug addiction, a wizard who had already murdered two people.

Standing there in the middle of the living room, without a word to any of them, Harry Apparated to the cabin where his best friend and the man's stepson had spent the night. He stared at the front door. The front door was closed, but the weathered wood had splintered near the bottom and looked like something had torn at it. Harry couldn't breathe. He ran up the three steps and threw open the front door. He nearly tripped over Ran. He stared down at him, trying to understand what he was seeing.

The fifteen-year-old young man, so tall and strong and capable, was curled up on the floor sobbing like a child. Naked. He was curled in a ball, and his exposed shoulders were covered in splinters and blood. His hands clutched in his disheveled hair, and they were bloody, too. There was dried blood smeared on his face. He sobbed helplessly, with exhaustion. He'd been crying for a long time. He saw Harry, and he cried harder, clutching his head and nearly screaming.

"I'm sorry!" he wept. "I tried . . . I tried not to . . . I couldn't stop, Harry, I couldn't stop!"

Harry's eyes flicked past Ran to the inside of the cabin. The constriction in his chest ripped open and his breath rushed in, but he thought his insides had exploded right out of his body to make the passage.

"_Noooooo_!" He ran into the cabin, threw himself on his knees beside Draco, who was thrown up against the island of the kitchen, limp as a rag doll, his skin stark white wherever it showed beneath the blood. He skimmed his hands in the air over Draco's body, unable to bring himself to touch him, but trying anyway. "Draco! Draco!" _We were fighting_, he thought surreally. _He's dead, and the last thing I said to him was in anger._ He laid a hand on Draco's shoulder, and Draco's body slumped over onto the floor. His face was a mass of blood and torn skin. "Oh, no," Harry moaned. "No, please. I can't. I can't do this again. I already . . . I lost Ron," he sobbed. "Draco's my brother now, my best friend. Don't take him, not now. _I can't do this again_!"

Ran was crawling along the floor of the cabin, every movement painful, weeping the whole way. Harry felt a vicious stab of satisfaction as he saw what a fight Draco had put up against his stepson.

"I didn't bite him," Ran panted. He collapsed to the floor, nearly laying on Draco. "Draco," he cried. "I'm sorry. I didn't mean to."

"It's not your fault."

The scratchy words were spoken so quietly, neither of them were sure they'd heard it, at first. Harry had closed his eyes, and now he was afraid to open them.

"My fault . . . didn't do your potion . . . right."

Harry's eyes snapped open and met Draco's.

"Oh, Merlin, you're alive," Harry gasped.

Draco closed his eyes. "I'm trying. Harry. Call Peter. I need . . . Healer. Please."

"Okay, I'll do it. Just . . . hang on, okay?"

"Where's Ran?"

"I'm here," Ran mumbled.

"Not your fault."

Ran said nothing.


	22. Chapter 21: The End Of It

_Thank you to all my lovely reviewers. You are the reason I write, and I'm glad you all enjoyed the last chapter (when you weren't having heart attacks, of course). I'm trying to think up a nice gift for all of you, but you'll have to give me some time . . ._

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Chapter Twenty-One

The End of It

Harry waved to the nurse at the desk for the ward as he walked by. He'd hardly left the hospital for the last few days, he and the nurse were getting to be close and personal friends, if one counted friendship by how many times you had seen someone's face. Vianne had been completely distraught and was sleeping here, but they practically had to handcuff Ran and drag him in here just to assure him that Draco was going to live. When Peter had rushed Draco to the hospital, they'd taken Ran back to the house to clean up. He'd vomited profusely for a few hours, retreated into the garden shed, and barely come out since then.

When they'd forced Ran to come see his stepfather, Draco had explained that he'd screwed up and made Ran's potion incorrectly because he'd been too distracted to take into account his new growth spurt—which was exactly the reason Ran had to be watched until he was an adult. He'd been expecting something like this to happen eventually. When Ran realized that Draco was unsurprised and that he'd intentionally been putting himself in harm's way just for Ran's sake, it somehow became worse. Ran had refused to come back to the hospital. Draco kept asking after him, even though he really wasn't supposed to be moving his face.

Draco's face was a mess. Harry could only imagine what it had been like after his fight with Neville eight years ago, since Draco said this wasn't anything compared to it—not that Draco would know, he was still refusing to look in the mirror, he just thought it _felt_ better. It was a difficult thing to contemplate, since Draco looked like a pile of raw hamburger right now. The Healers were doing an excellent job; he no longer looked like death warmed over. He hadn't bled to death, and the scars wouldn't be as bad as Harry had feared they'd be. Still, didn't seem fair, on a face like Draco's, to add anything more.

All in all, this incident had given them a lot of information on the mysterious Peter Putnam. The hospital he'd taken Draco to was in Canada. The hospital where Jonah Simpson had been leading a team specialized in werewolf attacks for the last fifteen years. Peter had been brought to this very hospital when he was little more than a boy, back when Mum Parish was leading him and a group of other kids in those black op werewolf hunts Draco had pretended to be part of when he was acting as Drew Stevens. Turned out that Jonah and Peter had known each other for years. Draco had found it hilarious that he'd not only stolen Peter's name, but his complete past, completely by accident. He was the only one laughing right now, but Harry figured he had the right if that was keeping him going through this.

"Harry," Draco greeted him when he entered the room. Here, it was safe to use their own names. After all, Hermione's husband ran this ward, there was really no point to pretending.

"Hey, how are you feeling today?"

"All right," Draco answered cautiously. The mending skin didn't like to be stretched, so he was trying not to open his mouth very far when he talked. He was also trying not to move at all, since there was a lot of mending skin in a lot of places.

Harry shook his head, a wry smile twisting his mouth. "You already did the heroic thing, you can just admit it hurts." Honestly, Draco looked fantastic compared to how he'd been when they'd brought him in. He was actually coherent and everything.

"Fine," Draco said grumpily. "It hurts. I was trying to ignore that, thanks very much. You'd better be a lot happier about my heroism, by the way. If I hadn't gotten shredded all to hell, your kids would have, because Ran really wanted to get out of that cabin and I managed to stay between him and the door until nearly dawn."

"Ran says you were expecting this?"

"I was just hoping my mistake would be small enough that Ran could retain enough of his mind to be reasoned with." He sighed, and his eyes were full of a pain that had nothing to do with his body. "It wouldn't have happened if I'd been listening to you. Harry, I—"

Harry held up his hand to stop him. "Don't. You already apologized."

"Maybe I'm not done feeling guilty."

"You never are," Harry said, rolling his eyes. "But you've already told Vianne you're sorry, and that's who I was most worried about."

"Having her kid nearly kill her husband has been pretty traumatic for her, you know. It's going to be a while before she's happy with me."

"How did you know this was going to happen, Draco?"

"I didn't _know_, but I wasn't ruling it out. I've been making this potion twelve times a year for three years, I was bound to screw it up at some point."

"And you didn't think to warn Ran of this possibility?"

"I did, actually, but it was probably so long ago that he doesn't remember. If I'd reminded him, he would have insisted on staying away from me. It was lucky Hagrid was around a couple of years ago when he was so upset with me, I wouldn't trust too many other people to survive if something happened. It was my mistake, it ought to be me paying for it."

"Ignoring how funny I find it that you consider it lucky to have Hagrid around," Harry said, "you almost _didn't _survive. So shut up. You're not supposed to be talking, you're supposed to be resting."

"Fine," Draco sighed. "I'll just lay here like a lump, then."

Harry grinned at him. "I haven't seen you pout since you were about twelve."

"I am not suited for a sedentary lifestyle," Draco said primly. "I am not pouting, I am expressing my discontent over—"

"No, you're being quiet and letting your face heal. If you move it too much, the scarring is going to be terrific, remember?"

"Gosh, wonder what that would be like?" he muttered, but he did shut up at that point.

"Do you want to hear about what we're doing today?"

Draco nodded, lighting up.

"Oddly enough, Emma meets her supplier in the same cabin where you nearly got yourself killed. I sincerely hope you haven't started a fad, because we don't need any more complications in this case. Anyway, I still have the Invisibility Cloak, so I'm going to be waiting under that. If her supplier shows up, I'll send a message to Peter, and he and Chris will come in immediately."

"Why wouldn't—"

"Shut up. You're going to ask why the supplier wouldn't show up?"

Draco nodded.

"Don't move your head anymore than you have to, either. Merlin, you must be really out of it. Think about it. Landon is just being released today, still unwilling to tell us who did this to him, by the way. Not that many people know he was in the hospital, since the attacker was nice enough to do it on the Friday before the two-week break, but this person has been using Landon's appearance, and he's going to be keeping tabs on what Landon's doing. He most likely knows he's been exposed. Emma's been acting as normal as possible, she knows her life basically rests on cooperating with us and making this convincing. I don't know. If this is a student, he won't show up. He'll know we're after him now. If he's not a student, we've got a chance."

Draco nodded again, and Harry thought he was frowning under the bandages. "Ms. Danvers coming back on Monday?" he asked.

"Oh, yes. We've put the word out that you've gone home. We sent Doug and Morgan home, and Vianne's been staying here all the time, so if anyone was watching the house, they wouldn't know."

"Unless they saw Ran."

Harry shook his head. "You're assuming Ran has set foot out of the house since he was here a couple of days ago."

Draco sighed sadly. "It's not his fault."

"I think he knows that. I think he's just feeling a little traumatized by what he did. He remembers most of it, and the fact that he couldn't control himself scares him to death. I don't think he had a clue what he's capable of."

"I wish he was here, though," Draco mumbled. "For his mother, if not for me."

"I'll tell him you said so," Harry shrugged, thinking it wouldn't do much good. "But if you're looking for a visitor, you've got one."

"Hmmm?"

"Peter's bringing him. I'm not that great with Side-Along Apparation. They should be here by now."

"Who?"

"Edward. He's very worried about you."

"I thought I'd gone home?"

"Doug and Morgan wanted to say goodbye, and it's kind of hard to ignore Ran's attitude right now. Edward asked what was going on. And I thought, well, he already knows about wizards, he might as well find out about werewolves."

"I bet that poor kid can't sleep at night, wondering what's going to come in out of the night to get him."

Harry heard Peter's voice in the hallway, and stuck his head out to look. He smiled at Draco. "Not exactly."

"No, they're not required to register as government employees once they graduate from the university," Peter was saying, taking care to keep his face turned toward the teenager who was listening with utter fascination. "That's why the system sucks so much. Sure, they're told how to educate, but no one is regulating it. That's not the real problem, though. I don't care if you learn really Dark magic, if you're just curious and want to study it. Our problem is how disconnected the Muggle-born wizards are, like your friend Stace. He's in our records, but a lot of them aren't. If they learn something just for theoretical purposes, and then they never see another wizard, they're going to feel invincible and it's Muggles who pay for it."

They paused in the hallway so that Peter could read the note Edward was scribbling on the pad of paper he kept in the pocket of his jeans.

"I wouldn't really worry about what qualifies as Dark magic," Peter said, shaking his head and looking amused. "You're not going to be wielding any of it."

Edward pursed his lips and looked disgruntled, but then they were walking in, and his annoyance turned to concern when he saw Draco. His eyes wide, he raised his hands to sign to him, but then let them fall uselessly to his sides. He grimaced dramatically.

"It's okay, Edward," Draco said, his voice tight with pain as he opened his mouth wider to speak more precisely. "These guys really know what they're doing, and I'm going to be fine."

Edward brightened a little, and he began signing enthusiastically. Draco started laughing, but stopped with a gasp and clutched his chest.

"Oh, don't," he moaned.

"What?" Harry asked, ready to step in.

"He's figured out that we're celebrities, you and I."

"What? How?"

"My fault," Peter volunteered. "I saw Healer Simpson and his wife and stopped to talk to them. It came up when Edward started asking about her work, and the Lupins came up as a topic of conversation—I've been a big supporter of the work the ambassadors were doing— and . . . well, it all went downhill from there. Your friend here is more inquisitive than anyone has a right to be," he said, shooting a look at Edward, who grinned unrepentantly.

He signed to Draco, who paraphrased. "It's exciting to realize how much of the world you still have to discover. If you're seventeen and insane, anyway."

"Harry, we need to get going," Peter interrupted. "You've got to get to the cabin before Emma does, remember?"

"Oh, yeah. Draco, Edward's going to keep you company for awhile. Jonah said he'd bring him back home after his shift ends."

"Get ready for the interrogation," Peter grumbled. "This kid never shuts up, which I didn't think was possible for someone who doesn't speak."

Edward made a rude gesture at him, but with a joking smile. Harry and Draco frowned, and Peter looked confused.

"I thought only wizards used that," Harry said slowly.

"They don't use it here," Peter added.

Edward didn't catch what Peter said, but he saw Harry's comment, and responded.

"Of course," Draco said, rolling his eyes. "Morgan would." He waved lazily at Peter and Harry. "You guys get out of here, we'll be fine." Then he looked at Harry severely, his face sad. "I tried so hard to help these kids . . . I wish I was going with you. Finish this, would you?"

"I promise. This is the end of it. We're going home."

Draco and Edward were already lost in conversation.

"Come on, let the academics sit around on their lazy asses," Peter said, clapping Harry on the shoulder and leading him out of the room. "We've got real work to do."


	23. Chapter 22: Renegade

Chapter Twenty Two

Renegade

Harry sat on the unfinished kitchen counter, grumbling to himself about getting splinters in his ass. He was still picking them out of his hands after the series of fences he'd vaulted while chasing Stace before he'd known the boy was a wizard. He was pretty impressed that Stace had taken it upon himself as the wizard in town to investigate magical problems, thought it boded well for Stace's future, but by almighty Merlin that kid knew how to create trouble. The boy's parents, aware of the magical world and concerned by it, had been hounding Harry (still known as Drew, even to them) for information and opinions, for one thing. For another, if Landon had been the real culprit, Stace probably would have gotten himself and Harry killed when he'd decided to play amateur detective.

What with Landon's suspicions, Stace's identity, Edward getting sucked in, and the amount of information Hank and Chris Bernard were gleaning, Harry was starting to wonder why they didn't just call a town meeting and let everyone in on it. He was already seriously considering the possibility that they were going to need to call a team of witches and wizards in here to Obliviate a good chunk of Greenwood. Red-Hot was just too weird, and Dr. Jamie Edwards' solution to it too unlikely, especially when trained doctors couldn't figure it out. People, most of them student's parents, were asking too many questions that couldn't be answered. It was going to require somebody seriously gifted with memory charms.

Too bad Gilderoy Lockhart had never fully regained himself. Harry chuckled to himself, thinking back on the silly man who'd gotten exactly what he deserved, then shifted with a grimace. He'd shown up too early, and he hated sitting still. His butt was going numb.

The front door suddenly groaned and swung open. There was no one in the doorway, but Harry was sure they would come in cautiously, with the state of the door after Ran's frantic attempts to tear it down. He already had his Invisibility Cloak on, covering his outstretched wand hand, and he was ready for anything.

When Landon Halsbeck walked through the door, he tried not to be surprised, but it was hard. He tightened his grip on the wand and reminded himself that Landon Halsbeck had a broken wrist, broken ankle, broken ribs, and a host of facial lacerations. He was not capable of strolling around the forest, and he was certainly not a wizard who could Apparate here like this person had likely done. Harry had given up on searching the woods for a sign of anything when he'd realized that this wizard was capable of Polyjuice Potions. He knew there would be nothing to find, because this wizard was not stupid enough to do any of his work in this area, beyond handing Emma the drugs.

Speaking of . . . Emma walked in, looking pale and frightened. She was shrinking into herself, and Harry felt a stab of pity. She'd been a terrified wreck for the last few days as this meeting got closer and closer, not understanding how the maker of Red-Hot could look just like Landon but not be him. She was too busy grasping that even if this person had ever had the ability to get Stacey Law to take notice of her, she'd destroyed the possibility by dealing in the thing Stace hated most. She wouldn't be going to jail, since she'd been so meekly helpful, but her family would be moving and she would be receiving some professional counseling.

Emma stared at the Landon look-alike. Harry hoped to Merlin she didn't screw this up, for the three seconds he needed to get behind the Polyjuiced wizard and Stun him. She looked like she would blurt out something untoward, and Harry was trying to move quietly. He was hoping to personally hear the wizard say Red-Hot was his work.

"You look like you've seen a ghost, Emma," the wizard said, sounding irritated.

"You— Landon's all beat up. Who _are_ you?"

"What?" he barked out, and his sudden movement sparked Harry's instincts.

"Stupefy!" Harry shouted, and the wizard fell. Harry quickly conjured his stag and sent it to tell Peter to get here immediately. The Patronus flashed silver and was gone, and Harry felt a stab of pride at having mastered the complex spell that he'd been so envious of as a teenager.

Harry stood over the wizard, holding out his wand. He'd made it pretty weak to avoid harming this person, not sure of their exact physical abilities and therefore cautious. He hoped the other two would show up before he had to get into anything with this guy—

With a crack, Peter appeared, his arms around Chris. Chris was wild-eyed and shocked, but when she saw the boy laying on the ground, she was all business. She cuffed him, heard him groan with returning sense, and barked out his rights to remain silent and a bunch of other things he wasn't really going to have the rights to once Peter convinced her to turn him over to wizard custody.

Emma stood there with her eyes bugging out of her head, practically hyperventilating. Harry sighed, and Obliviated her. He wasn't much good with extensive mind jobs, but he could wipe out a couple of minutes of memory. Any Auror had to be able to do that. When her mouth opened and closed like a gaping fish, he knew it had worked.

"Good job, Emma," he said, trying to sound stern but unruffled. "We got him."

"But Landon—"

"It's easy to see why you thought it was Landon, they look an awful lot alike, especially in this murky little place," he said, taking her by the shoulders and turning her away before she could see what appeared to be Landon's face in a much more pristine condition than the real Landon's currently was. He led her outside. "Come on, I'm going to take you home now. You and your parents have some packing to do, and we want you safely out of here. That is a dangerous person in there."

She frowned, still looking lost and obediently traipsing along at his side. "But who is it?"

"It's better if you don't know that," Harry told her gently, not wanting to admit that he didn't know yet, either.

Harry walked Emma to her home in silence, thanked her parents for allowing Emma to cooperate, and said the police would be in touch soon. He Apparated directly back to the cabin, where Chris had agreed to wait with their prisoner for the Polyjuice to wear off before bringing him back to the station. He got there to find the wizard, still looking like Landon, handcuffed and leaned up against the kitchen island, which Peter and Chris were leaning against and chatting about basketball. Landon's mask didn't disguise the fear and anger on the wizard's face. He'd obviously realized they were waiting for the Polyjuice to wear off to see who he was.

"That penalty was such a bad call!" Chris yelped, glaring at the smirk on Peter's face. Harry didn't know what to do about Chris. She'd agreed to keep everything from the rest of the force if she could be in on it, and now she was finding out too much. So much that Peter had never wanted her to know, but couldn't keep from her anymore if they were to remain friends of any kind. It would break Peter's heart to use a memory charm to wipe out the past two months, but Harry thought he probably would. The only other option was to tell her everything. Mum Parish had already shot down the idea of having select members of the police force clued in, as Harry and Kingsley had done in Britain. Apparently, whoever made such decisions for the U.S. would listen to Mum before he'd listen to Harry, who had tried to argue the idea to Mum.

"So, who is he?" Harry asked cheerfully.

Peter shrugged. "I was waiting for you."

"Why?" Harry asked, feeling glad but surprised. Peter wasn't exactly a "teamwork" kind of guy.

Peter shrugged again. "Didn't seem fair to make you do all this work and leave you out of the good stuff."

Harry grinned as the handcuffed wizard started kicking the floorboards.

"Let me go!" he shouted, Landon's voice rising shrilly. "I didn't—" _thump _"do—" _thump_ "anything!"

"Except create and sell Red-Hot," Harry said, fixing him with a look of pure disgust. The boy recoiled.

"That's not my name for it," he muttered. "Emma called it that. She overheard me talking to—" His eyes went wide. "She heard about how Pepper-Up makes your ears steam and stuff," he said quickly. "So she called it Red-Hot and I said she could call it whatever she wanted—"

"If you think giving us this kind of useless shit will help you," Peter drawled, "think again. I'm a little more interested in who she overheard you talking to."

"Myself. She heard me talking to myself."

"Uh-huh," Peter said, his face bored with disbelief. "And who is it that you are, exactly?"

His eyes widened again. "Let me go!" he shouted, kicking at the floor and thumping his head against the island a few times in the process. There were still a few of Draco's bloodstains they'd missed when they were cleaning, Harry noticed with a wince.

Then it happened. The wizard started to change. At first, Harry thought for a wild second that Landon had a twin or something, because the body changed only the smallest fraction. There was no sudden lengthening or shortening of limbs, only a thinning of the face and a lightening of the nearly black hair to a muddy brown shade. Then his nose swelled a little and became more pronounced, then the eyes sunk in, and the jaw widened, and they were staring at someone else. Someone who was also a teenager, about Landon's height and build, but with a gaunt face and a wide nose.

"Who the hell are you?" Harry blurted out, not recognizing any of Greenwood's students.

"Renegade," he said, his face suddenly sly as he realized they didn't know him.

"What. The fuck."

Peter turned. "Chris?"

"What have you _done_?" Chris asked, her voice raw, staring at the handcuffed teenager in his ragged jeans and t-shirt.

"What are you talking about?" the boy shot back, his face going pale.

"How could you _do_ that?"

"I . . ." the boy seemed at a loss for words in the face of Chris's rage and horror. "I don't know," he whispered.

* * *

Landon tried to ignore the itch. If he thought about it, it would only drive him crazy. But the more he tried to ignore it, the more he thought about it. Under that damn ankle cast, his skin was practically on fire. He would love to scratch it, but he couldn't bend over like that, it hurt his ribs like he was being beaten all over again.

He was laying on his bed, which was perfectly made up, thanks to Kim. Greg and Kim had been really nice to him lately, even though he'd been just as grouchy as ever. They'd said they were proud of him for not getting into any trouble, and for starting this business with the websites, but ever since Adam had him beaten up, they'd been beside themselves to help. Landon hoped it was just that they were relieved he wasn't actually into drugs, and they'd lay off him soon. He couldn't take too many more queries into how he was feeling and if he'd like a glass of water. If he couldn't even get up to piss by himself, why would he want a glass of water?

There was a knock on his door, and he groaned. If it was Kim, he was going to throw himself out the window. Which would be stupid, because he was on the first floor and it would just crack his mending ribs, but at least it would get him away from smothering maternal instincts for a minute.

"Landon?"

He opened his mouth to make a half-hearted sarcastic comment, half-hearted because let's face it, smothering maternal instincts were better than being left alone and he'd had enough of that growing up. Then he shut his mouth as a familiar, completely unexpected face was followed into his room by the body of said unexpected person.

"Autumn Callavetti?"

"Yes, it's me," she said, raising a blond, perfectly shaped eyebrow. "Did the blow to the head damage your vision?"

"No, I'm just surprised to see you."

"Why?"

"Um, Autumn, have we ever voluntarily exchanged words before?"

"Yes. All the time."

"In middle school," Landon finished for her. "Back when Stace and Adam and I were all friends and they hadn't even started fighting over you yet."

"Right."

"So why are you here now? Aren't you supposed to be resting and taking drug treatments?"

Autumn scowled at that. "I didn't know it was like that. That stupid drug did something to me . . ." She let out a shuddering breath, and she looked more vulnerable than Landon had ever seen her. "I am taking the treatment, but it's so hard. I never realized what would happen." She shrugged miserably. "It cost me Stace."

"Stace is kind of an ass, don't know if you noticed."

"He was," she said, looking down at her feet and hugging her arms around herself. "He's . . . getting older, I guess. He's changing a lot, especially since I started using Red-Hot and since the Edwards brothers came here. He spends as much time with them as Dumb Eddie does." Her face saddened. "I wish Jamie would have stayed longer. I feel kind of scared that the treatment he left won't work well enough and I won't have anyone here to help me."

Landon stared at her. "Autumn. Seriously. What are you doing here?"

She sat down on the edge of the bed, and Landon blinked, wondering if she'd disappear when he opened his eyes. But no.

"I don't know. I guess I just wanted to apologize. For what Adam did. I know he did it for me, and I'm sorry."

"You're not mad at me for making Red-Hot?"

Autumn kept her arms crossed over herself and frowned. "I don't know. I should be, but I just feel bad for you right now. It wasn't your fault I got so hooked. The dealers told everyone your instructions not to take more than one vial every two days."

"Well, whoever it was knew it wouldn't happen," Landon grumbled. "They knew what they were doing, and they've kept up with the demand for more, so they knew."

"What do you mean? It's not you?"

"No, it isn't. I was being framed," he told her grimly.

"But . . ." she stammered. "If it's not you, then who is it? How come you didn't tell anybody?"

"I wasn't allowed to. They had to catch the person who was framing me."

"Did they?"

"They're doing it right now," he shrugged. "So now you know."

"You mean . . . Adam had Frankie and the boys beat you up for nothing?" she gasped. She took his hand and clutched it to her chest, causing Landon to stare at her some more. "I'm so sorry. Oh, Landon."

She leaned over and kissed his cheek. He honestly didn't know how to respond.

"Are you crazy?" he finally said. _Oh, great, Landon, a girl is kissing you, and that's what you can say?_

She sighed and wiped away a tear trailing down her cheek. "I think so. But Red-Hot has been making everybody crazy. I'm glad it's not you."

"Why?"

"Because you're not a snob like they are," she said, looking down at her feet again, turning her face away shyly. "You don't deserve it like they do."

"I don't think anybody deserved all this," Landon muttered. "Except for me."

"You? What did you do?"

"I think God is punishing me or something."

"What?"

"I betrayed my best friend, and he killed himself. I deserve it all."

"I don't— you mean Shawn Randall?"

Landon couldn't help flinching at the name, just as he couldn't seem to help talking about it. Why with Autumn, he didn't know. Maybe he was just being honest because she was. Maybe it was time, and he needed it. He didn't know. He just talked.

"He wanted me to understand him, but I was scared, and I couldn't— it was so strange. I was afraid. And I wouldn't accept him, and I killed him."

Landon could feel the tears squeezing out of his eyes, and feel Autumn's soft hand on his cheek wiping them away. Then Greg stuck his head in.

"Uh, Landon?"

Landon bit back the bitter comment on the tip of his tongue when he saw how white Greg's face was.

"The police called. Landon, I need to tell you something."

* * *

The tape recorder clicked on.

"We don't need that," said Peter. "I have a Pensieve."

"You can tell me what the hell a Pensieve is later," Chris said, glaring. "This is for the police record."

"If you want me to talk to make it easier on myself, you might shut up and let me talk."

"Why are you so eager to talk all the sudden? I thought you wanted us to let you go," Harry said snidely.

"I . . . things went wrong, okay? I didn't want to use it, I just made it up. It wasn't my idea." The tears in his voice sounded genuine, and Harry frowned.

"Can I please talk?" Chris griped. "This is my interrogation."

"Can we not call it that?" Harry asked, his voice quieter. "Let's just talk to him. I believe him, this isn't want he wanted."

Harry received a look of grateful surprise, and Peter rolled his eyes.

"All right," Chris said, her voice calm, almost bored. She'd done this before. "Let's start at the beginning. What's your name?"

"Shawn Randall."

"Where have you been for the last year, Shawn?"

"With Annie. Annie's a witch. She taught me everything. Using Red-Hot was her idea."


	24. Chapter 23: Confessions

Chapter Twenty-Three

Confessions

When Draco woke up, Ran was sitting in the corner with his long legs folded up and trapping his lanky body in the plush armchair the staff had conjured for Vianne to sit in, since she rarely left his side. She wasn't here right now, which Draco figured meant that she'd dragged Ran here by virtue of being his mother, and left him alone with his stepfather to hash things out. Ran looked miserable, so sad and bitter that Draco's heart nearly broke. He barely remembered Ran's first visit, he'd been in such a daze of pain and drugs.

He must have made some noise, because Ran looked up, his eyes frightened.

"Don't be afraid," Draco said softly. "I won't look like such a nightmare once they give me my eyepatch back."

Ran's face twisted, and he looked at his knees, which was quite a feat since they were practically poking in his ears. "You think _you're_ a nightmare," he muttered.

"You've been a werewolf since you were four," Draco said with some confusion. "How is this so surprising to you?"

"I've never lost control like that before."

"It was bound to happen sooner or later."

"Not with you," Ran said, his voice tight with pain, and Draco realized that Ran's fear was of speaking his mind to him. "I trusted you to keep that from happening," he said, but he didn't sound angry, just sad. Tears plopped onto the leg of his jeans, and the arms wrapped around his legs tightened, as if he could fold himself up even smaller. "I thought you wouldn't let me do that."

"Ran, listen to me. I'm not perfect, and I was always going to make a mistake at some point. I told you that, a long time ago. I told you that there was going to be a month where I miscalculated and we were going to have trouble. Don't you remember?"

Ran nodded, and tried to speak without crying. "But you said it wouldn't be bad. You said it would be small, and you could handle it."

"I did handle it. Ran, you didn't even leave the cabin."

"I almost _killed_ you!" he burst out, and his feet hit the floor. "I could have _murdered _you, and then where would Mum and I be?"

Draco sighed, and chewed on his lip for a moment. "I know. And that was my fault. I was letting myself get too caught up in what's been going on here, and I wasn't paying enough attention to you. Ran, what happened was my fault, okay? There was no way for you to stop yourself after the mistake I made, and nobody blames you for it."

"Mum does," Ran whispered, and he started to curl in on himself again. "She won't even look at me."

"Ran . . ." Draco didn't know what to say about that. Vianne was . . . she was here, in the hospital, all the time, but something was wrong with her and she wouldn't admit it to anyone, not even him, not even after he'd buried his face in her lap and cried with shame for how he'd been treating her.

"It's true."

"She's having some problems," Draco said cautiously. "Ran, Vianne loves you, and that's never going to change. You're her son, problems and all." Ran seemed to be brightening a bit at that, but still looked doubtful. At least he wasn't crying now. "It's not you, okay? She's not really looking at me, either."

"Yeah, but you're ugly," Ran said with a little smile, obviously testing the waters to see if they were all right with each other.

"True," Draco sighed. "And a jerk on top of it, apparently."

Ran looked serious again. "I haven't liked you very much the last few weeks," he admitted.

"That's because I was acting like someone I thought I'd left behind me."

"Who?"

"Draco Malfoy," he said, knowing Ran wouldn't really understand, but having no better way to explain it. In his head, that wasn't his name anymore. The way Vianne said his name, the way Harry and Ran said his name, sounded different to him than the way it had sounded when he was a teenager. "I was acting like a spoiled child," he simplified. "That's not what I am anymore, and I'm sorry that you've had to put up with it."

Ran shrugged. "It's okay."

Draco started laughing, even though it kind of hurt.

"What's so funny?"

"How everybody says that to each other, when it's so obvious that things aren't really okay," he giggled. "Here we are, in the hospital, where you accidentally put me because I've been acting like a bastard, and my wife is hardly speaking to me. We're sitting here waiting to find out how things are progressing with the interrogation of a wizarding drug lord who's ruined the lives of a hundred teenagers for no good reason that I can see. But it's okay? Why do people say that?"

Ran looked dumbfounded. Looking down at the floor, he said very softly, "I guess because they know that as long as the people they love are alive and with them through all of it, things are okay enough."

Draco forced himself to stop the semi-hysterical laughter, which was born out of the relief that Ran was coming back to himself.

"Ran, I know I'm not the most pleasant sight, but you can look at me."

Ran looked up, but his eyes were haunted.

"And it's okay to say you love someone. How many times do I have to tell you I'm not going anywhere? I love you, too."

Ran's eyes brimmed with tears. "I thought you would hate me."

"Come here," Draco said, holding out his less damaged arm.

Ran shook his head. "I don't want to hurt you."

Draco laughed lightly. "Too late. Now get your ass over here before I try to levitate you without my wand. You know Harry stole my wand and said I couldn't have it back until Jonah released me? Can I hug you, or what?"

Ran crawled onto the bed and let Draco wrap an arm around him. Ran had just passed him up in height, and he was a great deal thicker through the shoulders, but he was still just a boy, and his head fell on Draco's shoulder to cry a few tears with the confidence that his father wouldn't think less of him for it.

* * *

"I want to know who Annie is, please," Peter said, looking dangerous and causing Shawn to shrink back in his seat. "Everything you know."

"Peter!" Chris snapped. "My. Interrogation."

Peter subsided with a huff.

"Shawn, I need you to explain to me why you staged a suicide. Do you have any idea how much trouble we went to, looking for your body out in these woods?"

Shawn looked stunned. "Why were you even looking? Weren't they glad I was gone?"

Harry's mouth fell open, and he snapped it shut. How could anyone feel that alone in the world? And ask that question so casually?

"Your foster parents were very upset," Chris said sternly, either less affected than Harry or better at hiding it. "They refused to leave you laying in the forest somewhere. In the end, they had to go ahead with the funeral without a body."

"Who even came?" Shawn asked, looking interested and perplexed.

"The whole Miller family was there," Chris said. "You had parents, aunts, uncles, grandparents, and cousins, Shawn, whether they were related to you by blood or not."

"They thought I was a joke," he shot back, his face dark. "I was the family experiment, not one of them."

"Regardless, they were there. And so was Landon."

"Landon?"

"Yes, your best friend, remember him?"

Shawn looked like he'd been slapped. "Best friend?" he spat out. "That traitor wouldn't even _look_ at me! He actually still calls himself my _friend_?"

"Something happened, between you?" Harry spoke up, keeping his voice calm. _This would explain his choice of disguise. Revenge_. "You guys fought?"

"That asshole found out about my magic and ran screaming like a girl," Shawn grated out, and Harry could see an unimaginable wealth of pain hidden under that anger. Shawn likely didn't think it was so obvious. Or maybe Harry just had more experience than most in covering pain with rage and so recognized the symptoms. "We didn't fight. He just ran off and left me. So what did I have left, then?" he said, his eyes on Chris. "Why shouldn't I just go, and make sure no one could follow me?"

"Were we going to wait for a lawyer or his foster parents, or anything?" Peter said, his voice a sarcastic drawl. "Because this kid is really hanging himself with his own rope right now."

"He wanted to do this," Chris said, her eyes narrow. "And I get the feeling that this entire interrogation is going to be off the record, anyway, isn't it, Peter?"

"Huh?" he responded, looking genuinely surprised.

"You two are going to take him," Chris said, looking angry. "We'll get this part out of the way now, but I know he's going to disappear into this world of yours that includes teleportation and being invisible. But I'll be damned if I'm going to let him go without getting some answers. I spent _way_ too much time cleaning up his mess last year to let him go easily."

Shawn had been looking back and forth between them, his face frightened. It reminded Harry that they were dealing with a very young man, not a world-wise, experienced man who could remotely understand and deal with his situation.

"You mean . . . the police aren't going to keep me? I'm going with _him_?" He stared at Peter, who stared right back.

"You're a wizard, Shawn Randall," Peter said softly. "And you're subject to the laws of wizards."

"I don't know anything about that," Shawn said, sounding panicky. "I don't know any wizards, just Annie. I didn't know there was laws."

"You knew the police at least had laws!" Chris snapped. "You created a drug to enslave an entire town!"

Shawn looked belligerent at that. "Tell me they don't deserve it," he said. "You look around and tell me they should have gotten anything better."

Peter and Harry both rolled their eyes, but Chris' face softened a little. The two men were quiet with surprise when Chris spoke with compassion.

"I would have agreed with you, at one point. That they deserved it, not that you had the right to dish it out. But I've gotten to know these people while I've been investigating your drug, Shawn, and I've changed my mind. Kendall Steen, the girl who overdosed after you murdered her boyfriend, she deserved much better from you."

Shawn's ire faded. "I didn't want to kill Big Tim," he mumbled. "He followed me. He saw my face. God, Annie was pissed," he said with a shudder. He looked up at Chris with a hint of real regret. "Did Kendall— I mean, is she—"

"Dead?" Chris finished for him. "No. She's okay. We found a, um, a wizard, to help her."

"Good," he said, then crossed his arms over his chest as if to regather some sense of being intimidating. It was pretty laughable, considering the level of competence of the three adults, but Harry was starting to think, with sadness, that this boy couldn't really be saved. He'd been too angry before he even got started, and he'd relished in the pain he caused. Now instead of caving and crying out for mercy, he was trying to justify it. A seventeen-year-old wasn't really a boy anymore, Harry knew that better than anyone.

"How could you honestly believe wizards wouldn't punish you for how reckless you've been?" Harry asked. He knew Chris would glare at him and grumble about all her work being for nothing, but Shawn wasn't stupid, and Harry couldn't understand. "Didn't you think we'd be angry at how much damage you've caused, the bad name you've given us? We aren't even supposed to _have_ a name, in the Muggle world. The detective here shouldn't even have cause to know we exist."

Shawn stared at Harry, and his face went pale. "What do you mean? How many of us _are_ there?"

Peter and Harry shared a shocked look. It couldn't be true. Could it?

"Shawn, why don't you explain what you know about wizards, including anything Annie taught you."

Shawn shrugged. "Everything I know about wizards came from Annie. I didn't even know that's what it was called until I met her. She said wizards and witches are really rare and they hide themselves, even from each other. She said if regular people knew about us, they'd kill us, or brand us, or lock us up, or something. They'd be afraid of us. So we stay away from each other. I didn't like that. I thought it was stupid, I thought people should know how much more powerful we are. So I made up that stupid drug to show them what we could do. I thought it might bring some other wizards out of hiding. And it did, it brought you guys," he said proudly.

"Oh, Tituba's titties," Peter moaned, his face horrified, just as Harry muttered, "for the love of Morgana." The look Shawn directed at them both would have been comical if the situation were any different.

"You invented different cussing?" Shawn asked with interest.

Peter leaned over Shawn, reminding him why they were here. "This woman, Annie, she's your tutor?"

"I guess so."

"Did she say she came from a school? Did she talk to the Millers?"

"No," Shawn said. "She just said she was a witch and she could teach me about myself. She saw me practicing my magic. My mom was a witch, too," he said, his voice sounding more animated. "I got my wand from her. I just always had it and thought it was some kind of stupid heirloom until I found the note hidden in the frame of my mom's picture. It said to use it to help me focus the magic."

"Who was your mother?"

"I don't know," Shawn said, his voice dampened. He reached into his pocket, and found himself facing two wands and a gun in a heartbeat. "I'm getting out her picture," he said in a calm voice, his body very still. The weapons were drawn away, and he pulled out a crumpled photograph.

Peter leaned forward, face curious, and grunted. "That's my school," he said shortly. "She's standing in front of my school wearing the school uniform."

Shawn almost fell out of his chair, he leaned forward toward Peter so enthusiastically. "Do you know her?"

Peter shook his head, causing Shawn to sink down again. "I'm not old enough to have a kid your age, she was before my time."

"What's the name of the school?" Shawn asked, and the yearning in his voice was so strong that Harry nearly cried. Shawn had not started out as a killer. He'd started out as a boy looking for a mother he'd never known, and Harry wished he could give Shawn a memory of her. "I could only ever see 'Institute.'"

"Franklin," Peter supplied. "Franklin Magical Institute."

"There's really enough wizards and witches to have a whole school?" Shawn asked, his voice awed and proud. Harry coughed, feeling his throat constrict in surprise.

"He came from England," Peter said, gesturing to Harry. "Which has its own school." Shawn's eyes widened. "There are millions of us out there, Shawn. Thousands just in the United States." Shawn's eyes widened even further. "We have our own government, and three schools, and a lot of private tutors like your Annie, who for some reason has lied her ass off to you about it."

Shawn's face was growing red, and when Peter mentioned Annie, he growled, his teeth clenched together. "I'll get her," he said, his voice so thick with anger he was nearly choking. "How could she do this to me? She and John—oops."

"Who the bleeding fuck is John?" Peter snarled.

Shawn's face went white. "Nobody."

"Oh, you have an imaginary friend, how cute," Peter said sarcastically, then gave Shawn a blisteringly cold look. He didn't have to say anything else.

"Please," Shawn whispered. "Please don't ask me."

They all glowered at him, but Harry felt a stab of pity. Now the kid was really scared, much more frightened than he was about his arrest and imminent imprisonment.

"He's . . . a wizard," Shawn said softly. "A really powerful one." He looked at Peter pleadingly. "He'd really kill me if he knew I told you."

"You're in our custody now," Peter said. "I'd be a lot more worried about what we're going to do to you."

"You won't do what he would," Shawn whispered, and he looked down at the table. "Can I have a lawyer now?" he asked, his voice trembling on the edge of tears.

"Peter, you can't have him," Chris spoke up, her voice determined and strong. "We're keeping him. I know what you're capable of doing to get information, and I won't let you do it to him. I'm keeping him."

Shawn looked up hopefully, the trail of tears on his cheeks.

Peter snorted. "Chris, you can't stop me if I really want him, and you know it."

Harry winced, and then shook his head as Chris stepped forward, her chin up. She was calling Peter's bluff, and someone's heart was about to break. They were both equally as devoted to their jobs, and they were both going to destroy each other to hold to those standards. Right here, this relationship that had never got off the ground was going to crumble. All over this kid's poor decisions.

"What are you going to do to me, Peter?" Chris whispered, her face like stone. "How will you take him from me?"

Peter's face hardened to mirror hers, and Harry looked at Shawn. Shawn was watching the two old friends as if beginning to realize they were more than collaborators on an investigation.

"Don't do this, Chris. He's a wizard. He belongs under my laws."

"You're going to destroy him," she said simply. "It'll just be procedure, to you, but it'll ruin anything good left in him."

"Like that boy who stabbed you?"

Chris flinched, and her fingers crept over her stomach.

"Is that what this is about? Is that why you came to this town full of straightlaced kids? Because you knew you couldn't save those lost causes?"

"Enough," Harry said harshly. "That's enough, both of you." He frantically kept the tears from his eyes, wondering if it had looked like this when he and Ginny had spiraled down so far that she'd separated from him. "In case you forgot, 'he' is sitting right here, and his name's Shawn. He's a wizard who was never given the slightest chance, and right now has no idea how far he is from where he could be." He looked at Shawn, who flinched away from the burning of passion in his eyes. "Whoever this John fellow is, he's manipulated you terribly, Shawn. You've been lied to and cheated out of a whole world that should have been available to you. You should have learned wizardry with your peers among people who cared about you, and you should have been made aware of how much was out there. I'm so sorry that you weren't. Someone, somewhere, really messed up, and as unfair as it is, their screwup landed on you."

The arms Shawn had crossed over himself were tight, now, as if he were trying to hold himself together, and his breathing was heavy.

"The truth is, Shawn, that John is a nobody who means very little in the scheme of things. I've never heard of him. As dangerous as he seems to you, you're under our protection now, and we can protect you from the likes of him."

"But he can do things that—"

"So can I," Harry said grimly. "I can do some pretty serious magic, and so can Peter. Peter's fought with werewolves, and I've fought with people who could make John look like a fairy godmother. So don't even worry about what he says he can do to you. He's not going to do a damn thing while I'm here."

Shawn blinked at Harry, dumbfounded. "You mean that," he said softly, wonderingly. "Why?"

"Why what?"

"Why would you even get in the way, if John wanted to hurt me? I've done—" he looked down, "terrible stuff. I killed Big Tim. I had to."

"Shawn, look at me." Shawn did. "Stop doing those things. Just don't do them anymore. You don't have to. Just because you've been hurt doesn't mean you have to hurt anyone else."

"I wanted—"

"You've caused a lot of people a lot of pain, and if you're honest with yourself, I think you'll realize you're sorry and that you regret it. You miss Landon, don't you? And you're happy that Kendall's all right. I think you've got a lot more heart than you let on."

"Fuck you," Shawn breathed out, his arms wrapped tight around himself.

"You're not the only kid in the world who's ever had that problem," Harry said, and he could feel himself growing weary with the strain of his own burning emotions and conviction. "You're not the only kid who's been manipulated and led into danger by people who should know better. You're not even the only kid _I _know that's had a life like that. But it doesn't have to stay that way. I swear to you it doesn't. There is a huge world out there, a world even I haven't seen much of, and there are so many things you could do instead of what you're doing now. There are thousands of wizards who would teach you and never treat you the way John and Annie have."

He was shaking his head and sinking down into his chair, pulling away from Harry's words like he wouldn't be able to hear them if he hunched his shoulders enough.

"Shawn, look at me," he commanded. "You can change your whole life, and I can help you. All you have to do is tell me that you want that option." Shawn stared at him, mute. "Just tell me, Shawn, and I'll do everything in my power to help you. Just say yes."

Still unable to speak, Shawn dipped his head. He nodded. Harry's heart throbbed with the pulse of adrenaline.

"Yes," he muttered, then, as if afraid that Harry hadn't heard him, he shouted, "yes, okay?!"

Harry stepped forward, gripped Shawn's shoulder, and looked at Peter and Chris calmly. "I'm taking him."

"He's an American," Peter growled. "Have you already forgotten what he's done, how much damage he's caused? By the powers, we're going to have to call out an entire team to handle all the memory charms we'll have to do. He's going to be punished, and it's going to happen under the U.S. wizarding law."

"Fuck that," Harry said firmly.

"Who do you think you are?" Peter shouted.

Harry smiled grimly. "You know exactly who I am, Peter. You asked me for help, remember? Let's just call this foreign negotiations." Peter scowled. "We could call Minister Shacklebolt, see what he thinks."

Peter made a disgusted sound and walked out the door, slamming it behind him and making Chris, who'd been nearly forgotten, jump.

Shawn leaned forward, breaking Harry's grip on his shoulder, to turn and look at him with awe. "When you say you'll do everything in your power . . . just how much power is that, exactly?"


	25. Chapter 24: Victim of Fate

Chapter Twenty-four

Victim of Fate

Shawn released the owl and watched it soar away from him. It was going to find Annie. He felt sick as he watched the dully grayish-brown bird flutter its wings to catch the wind. He didn't want to get her into trouble, but his jailers wanted her. Shawn knew that no matter what this Drew Edwards said, he was still a criminal and going to be punished. He had to make things easier on himself in any way he could. Helping them bring in Annie and John was the only thing that would prove he was cooperative. And Shawn really wanted to prove that.

He wasn't sure how he felt about what he'd done. He supposed he should feel bad, but he didn't think that was it. Maybe he just wished things could have been different. Maybe he wished he would have known all this a little sooner. If he had, maybe it wouldn't have been so fun to think up ways to get back at the people he didn't like. All he really knew was that he was ready for something to change. He'd felt it, when Edwards had stared at him and promised to help him. Like he was sitting there, floating in some moment that could change the rest of his life. All he had to do was open his mouth, accept what Edwards offered, and he could do something different, _be_ something different.

Shawn had felt like a tool, or a toy, his whole life. Something that could be passed around, discarded, and used however the person in charge saw fit. What Edwards was offering was a way to change that. He'd said he would help Shawn find out what happened to his mother, and he was going to get Shawn into a real school. When he'd found out that Shawn liked animals, he'd acted like it was the best news he'd had in years. Apparently, Shawn would have the opportunity to work with real magical animals if he wanted to.

But to take all of that, he had to give them Annie. He hoped they got John, John scared the piss out of him, but Annie . . . she was just as badly used as Shawn was, or worse. He hoped they talked to her, the way they did to him. He knew they'd treated him differently, because he was a kid. Annie was thirty, she was an adult, they'd assume she knew better. Shawn didn't think she did. Shawn didn't know how long ago John had sunk his claws into her, but it had really messed her up.

"Ahem." Behind him, the sound of Peter clearing his throat.

He turned around to see "Peter" staring at him. He figured the guy's name really was Peter, because that's what the lady cop called him, but with no last name and the way he kept himself so aloof, Shawn treated it like an alias. Peter had been watching him like a hawk since they'd caught him yesterday. He didn't believe that Shawn wanted to go with Drew Edwards. He thought Shawn was just waiting for a chance to escape. Well, that was true enough. He was waiting for a chance to escape, and Edwards was it. He was getting out of here. Just one thing remained . . .

"When this Annie woman arrives, you need to act as normal as possible until we can subdue her, understand?" Peter said in his usual hard, gruff voice.

"After forty times, I think I got it," Shawn said stiffly. "I'm not stupid. I was the one who invented Red-Hot, you know."

"And proceeded to release it on an unsuspecting bunch of Muggles. Was that your smartest act to date?"

Shawn ignored him, and walked ahead of him back to huge, square building they were holding him in. The section for the wizard police and their jail had a separate entrance from the rest of the building. He'd been amazed to see this building, and he knew Annie would be, too. He wondered if she'd be as angry as he'd been upon seeing it for the first time. The evidence of just how immensely he'd been lied to was overwhelming. He never thought for a second that Annie had been the one doing the lying. John would have told her everything that she'd told him.

They kept trying to ask him about John, but Shawn wouldn't say anything. He'd only met him a couple of times, after all. That was enough. John scared him, and he scared Annie. Shawn could hear it in her voice whenever she talked about him or what he wanted done.

He lifted his chin in defiance when Peter held the door open into the building. Peter could follow him around and make snide remarks, but Shawn didn't have to allow him these little opportunities to make him feel like an escorted prisoner. They stood there in the doorway glaring at each other until Drew Edwards, who'd been waiting for them, walked forward and called out a greeting. And just like that, the situation became that Shawn was invited inside and Peter was holding the door for him. Shawn smiled at Peter mockingly and went inside.

* * *

When Annie went to the cabin Shawn used to meet with that girl, that Emma, she was on edge. Shawn's note said that he'd been forced to hide from some old friends and that he couldn't safely get out of town. Coming to see him here was better than coming to see him in town, but she was still angry. He was just a kid, and now he was bumbling along like this wasn't a serious situation. His note had been full of stupid little jokes, as if this was a game to him instead of hard work and risk.

With all her simmering anger at Shawn's ineptitude, no matter how she tried to make excuses about his age to John, she barely noticed that the door to the cabin had been nearly torn off. So when she walked inside and Shawn was sitting there with a worried look but not a scratch on him, the only thing she wanted to do was scream at him for worrying her and for getting himself into this.

"Who are you pretending to be, anyway? Why can't you just walk out of here?" she demanded when she saw him.

He walked forward, his hands raised in a gesture to calm her. "It's not like that, Annie. Listen, Annie, I found some wizards. It worked just like I said it would, it drew some other people with magic here."

"What _kind_ of wizards?" she snapped.

Then she was tapped on the shoulder, and she spun around with her wand in hand and flung out a curse without thinking.

"_Protego_," was the lazy reply, and a tall and rangy man with a scruffy beard met her eyes with a dangerous look. "This kind of wizard," he said, and tried to put her in a Full-Body Bind. She threw it off quickly, but the man just smiled grimly and conjured ropes around her wrists, a spell she'd never seen before. "_Accio_ wand," he added, and caught her wand neatly.

Annie's breath heaved as she stared at him, helpless and confused. "Who are you? What do you want?"

"As an agent of the New York Department of Magical Activity, it is my authority and discretion to arrest you and bind you under the Magical Legal Code of the United States of America," the man answered.

Annie blinked and gaped at him. "What?"

Shawn stepped forward and put a hand on her shoulder. "That's kind of what I said. I knew you didn't know, either."

Another man entered, another wizard, this one smooth-shaven and very trim-looking. He took the wand from Peter without comment so that Peter would be able to take hold of her. His eyes were trained on Shawn, still holding her shoulder.

"I'm not going to run," he mumbled.

Annie jerked away from the boy's grip. "What have you done?" she screamed at him. "You got caught, and now you've . . . you've . . ." She tried not to cry, but she couldn't help it. With her hands bound, she couldn't wipe away the tears, but she wouldn't let those make her seem weak. "You helped them trap me. Why would you do that?"

"They promised I could start over," Shawn mumbled, his eyes on his feet. "They said if I cooperated, I would get a chance to go to school and to—"

"So you turned me in, to save yourself. Great."

"Annie, listen, just tell them about John, and they'll—"

"_You_ _told them about John_?!"

"Annie, they can help. Don't you know how many wizards there are? There's so many of them, and it means that John lied to us. I don't know why, but he lied to us. They have a government and schools and sports teams and everything. They're going to help me find my mom. Annie, if you cooperate with them, maybe they can help you, too."

The man holding her wand looked at her hopefully. "He's telling the truth, Annie. We know you've been victimized by this man, too, and we'd like to help you."

"That's Edwards," Shawn added helpfully. "He really does want to help."

Annie spat on the ground. "You've got a little brown there on your nose, Shawn. Need a tissue?"

He took a step back, and looked deeply wounded.

Annie should have known it would come to this eventually. Shawn knew so little, and that was the only way they could have done this. John had said to keep him in the dark as much as possible, and so she had. He was as eager to please as a puppy when she found him, and John had been thrilled to have such a malleable child to work with. All their plans began to advance much more quickly with an intelligent kid like Shawn on board. But John had warned her that Shawn might someday figure it out. Someday, he'd turn on her.

But when things had been going so well, it had never crossed her mind that it might be today.

* * *

After three hours in a cell, Annie was ready to talk. If John didn't hear from her soon, he'd freak out. She'd told him that Shawn was in trouble and she had to go rescue him. If she didn't keep him updated, he would get upset. He would get panicky. Who knew what he would do when he was like that?

It was this that convinced Peter to let her contact John. He was an extremely unsentimental man, but he was imminently logical. If she didn't stay in touch with John, they would never have so much as an opportunity to capture him. Not that she planned on giving them any help there. She'd tell them enough, with enough of a sob story, to make them think she was as innocent and naïve as Shawn was, and then they'd leave her alone. They'd probably spend the next twenty years looking for John, but they'd never find him.

She called John, and just said that she could handle Shawn's little problem, it would only take her a day and she'd get the boy back. He'd made the mistake of showing up as Landon when the real Landon was out of school sick, so he was having to wait around until the real Landon was well before he could show up for his meeting with Emma. He bought it. He had no reason not to trust her.

Once she convinced them she didn't know anything, they'd try to use her like they'd been using Shawn. They'd get her to set up a meeting with John they could ambush. She'd agree to it, and she'd let John know, she'd say something in just the right way, to let him know not to show up to that meeting. She'd slip them on the way there. John had taught her how to abort a Side-Along Apparation years ago. She just needed to come up with something to say to these police and government agents first.

Annie hated talking about herself. She didn't like to be angry, but thinking back on the earlier years of her life always made her feel vengeful and furious. It was a good thing, when she needed some motivation to keep working on their numerous plots and plans, but it was not great when she needed to keep her head and control her mouth.

She knew she was pretty, and she planned to use it. She'd already seen Peter, this official agent of the state, staring at her chest. She'd worn her lustrous and thick brown hair down long today, and he seemed to be the type of guy who appreciated the natural look rather than the heavily styled. Add a few tears, and he'd be hers. John had taught her how to control men with nothing more than some simple gestures. Well, all men but him, anyway. But, as the one who'd taught her everything, that was to be expected. Things with him were on his terms, but she'd never much minded it. She owed him her life in every sense of the word.

So she sat in their interrogation room, at a heavy wooden table on a stone floor, bare walls meant to intimidate but really just boring, and she began. With a little tremble in her voice, with a few fits and starts to make it more genuine.

"My name is Annie Bradshaw. When I was fifteen . . ." With tears gathered on her lashes, she looked up at Peter sadly. "I didn't know I was a witch. I didn't know anything about my power or how to control it. I had no idea." She squeezed a few more tears out. "I had no one to show me. What I did— it was an accident." That much was true. She had never meant to. "I killed my parents." She tried to make it just words, tried to make it just a line in a play, and keep herself apart from it. But she couldn't. She had never been able to separate her memories from the words, not in fifteen years. She could still see the bodies, still hear herself screaming at them to wake up. When she shuddered and moaned softly, it was the first real thing she did in front of Peter and Drew

Drew looked horrified and sad, she saw when she looked at them. Peter just looked calculating. He knew she was acting.

"I couldn't explain what I did, and they were going to send me to jail. They were talking about trying me as an adult. My magic—it did such terrible things to them. I just . . . I was just upset that they wouldn't let me go out. I didn't mean for it to happen. But they didn't believe me. The police, I mean. They thought I murdered them on purpose, because I couldn't tell them what really happened."

She covered her face with her hands, trying to shelter herself, the only way she could keep talking. This wouldn't be so hard if Drew wasn't looking at her that way. He looked so compassionate, and she hated that, she _hated that_.

"That's when John came. He did something to the police, so that they forgot who I was, and he took me away with him. He told me about magic, and he taught me how to use it. He just . . . he took care of me. I was too young to know any better, and it wasn't my fault. He told me that. He told me that someone should have been there for me when I was younger, to train me."

Annie could hear Peter whispering something, no doubt something disbelieving and hard-hearted, but somewhere along the way, this had ceased to be an act. She wasn't telling the whole truth, but everything she was saying was the truth, and it had taken on a life of its own. She couldn't make herself shut up. She was angry with the two of them, she was angry with herself, she was angry with Shawn for getting her into this, and she was practically shaking with emotion.

"That's all I do, now, is I'm his student. He says I'm his apprentice. But I never do anything he doesn't tell me to do. All I ever wanted was to be a good student, to make him happy." Still covering her face, her voice lowered to nearly a whisper. "He was so glad that Shawn wanted to get back at his school. Shawn is his new prodigy, and John loves Red-Hot so much. John told us to use it at the school, so we did."

"Where is John?"

"I don't really know. We move around a lot. I just bring Shawn here once a week to give that girl the drugs."

"When are you supposed to meet up with him again?"

"I'm supposed to be with him right now. I have to come up with something it you want to sit in on a meeting. I have to have a story for him."

Peter looked at her with cold, ugly eyes. "And you think I'm going to believe you mean to do it? You're going to cooperate with us?"

"I have to, don't I?" she said bitterly. "If I don't, you'll find some way to punish me even more than I was already going to be punished. I'm aware that I have no options, _sir_." She spat the word out as an insult. No, he was not a gentleman of any kind, and he knew it.

"Annie, listen," Drew spoke up. The good cop to Peter's bad cop, she supposed. Well, it wouldn't work on her. "You have options. Working with us only gives you more of them. I want to believe that you are ready to change your life."

Inside, Annie was sneering, but she responded as though Drew was really saying something worth listening to.

"I think I am," she said softly. "I just don't know how."

"That's okay. It'll take time, but we can show you."

God, she loved suckers like him.

Someone knocked on the door, and walked in without waiting for an invitation. It was a man that looked like he'd just passed through the seventh circle of hell. Every inch of skin that she could see was a mess of half-healed wounds, he was missing an eye, and he was leaning heavily on a cane. Annie shuddered. Ouch. Whatever had happened, ouch.

"I have a present for you," he sang out, looking at Drew.

Peter rolled his eyes. "You're not a cop, Jamie," he said back, his sing-song voice mocking the other man. "You can't be in here."

"Too late, I already am," he said. Annie was fascinated. This man was not even a little bit intimidated or put off by Peter. "Now listen. I have a plan for you guys. Prepackaged and ready to go. Just add a little Annie and stir."

Now Drew rolled his eyes. "What is it, Jamie?"

"A way to catch this John guy."

Annie sat up straight, rigid, instantly tense.

"Oh?" Peter asked with a tone of polite boredom.

"It will require the police to work with some rather shady characters and not develop a sudden need to arrest them," Jamie explained. Then he let out his breath in a whoosh. "But first I need to sit down."

He did so, with Drew's eyes looking at him sharply. Jamie looked sharply back.

"Are you okay?" Drew asked quietly.

"I'm fine, I'll make it, give it a rest. Now listen."

That, Annie thought with amusement, made them sound incredibly gay. But they were both wearing wedding rings. Well, maybe they were married to each other. Anyway, it suddenly lessened her fear. These were just men with people they loved, not automatons working for the system. And suddenly Annie realized that Drew wasn't just trying to play the good cop. This wasn't an act for him. He really did want to help her.

Huh.

"What we're going to do is sell more Red-Hot."

"Oh, that's a brilliant plan, Jamie," Drew said with a scowl.

"To another dealer."

"What?" Peter said, narrowing his eyes and looking almost vicious. If he wasn't just playing bad cop, then he was actually sort of a scary person. Well, not compared to John, but pretty frightening.

"The story we're going to give John is that word of Red-Hot is spreading, and another dealer is looking to start working for him. Expanding the empire, as it were. I assume he would like the opportunity to make more money and hurt more people?" he asked, looking at Annie. She nodded slowly. John probably would like that. "Of course, he'll need to meet the new buyer in person. They can negotiate, which will give us the opportunity to take measure of him and get in place to arrest him."

"Which might actually work," Peter said thoughtfully, "assuming we have someone who can play the part adequately. He'd have to be a complete idiot to believe it, so we would need to have, basically, an actual drug dealer on hand."

"We have something close enough," Jamie said with assurance.

"The funny thing here," Drew spoke up, "is that you keep saying 'we' like you're actually going to be involved. I'm pretty sure that I'm sending you back home to your wife. Today."

"I'm seeing this thing through. You're going to need my help on this one. Nor am I going to argue about it. I'm providing you with the actors for this."

"You are, are you?" Peter said doubtfully. "Who is it?"

Jamie's ridiculously gruesome face crinkled into a charming grin.


	26. Chapter 25: Last Minute Conversations

Chapter Twenty-five

Last Minute Conversations

The door of the shiny black SUV slammed shut and Harry watched the big, bald man with tattoos around the base of his skull stride forward with three other guys falling into place behind him, obvious sidekicks to his main act. He looked tough, dangerous, and, of all things, cool. A tight black t-shirt with the name of some band Harry had never heard of just enhanced the muscles of the man's chest and made the brightly coloured twin dragons on his arms stand out all the more. He made Harry feel out of touch and unhip, which was pretty good for someone with crow's feet of that many lines in his face—a face partially covered by sunglasses, but Harry him to be in his mid-forties.

Draco limped forward, leaning on his cane. "Tuck!"

"What da hell happened ta _you_?" the big man replied. "You told me you got rid a da cane."

"It's temporary this time."

"Bleedin Jesus, kid, your face."

"Tuck, shut the hell up and tell me where my iPod is. I sent it to you two months ago. Actually, that's okay, because I wanted to tell you to add this band to it that one of the kids here thinks I'll like, they're called The Gay Blades—"

Tuck held up a small black object with a silver metallic sheen. "They're on here, along wid some Silverchair, and a buncha Tool 'cause I figured it was time for some classic shit." He shook his head, and pulled off his shades, giving Draco a stern look. "Fuck, whadda you take me for?"

Draco took the iPod with reverence. "I don't think I've told you lately how much I love you."

"Same ta you, sugar," Tuck said indifferently. "Oh, I put da new Rise Against album on dere, too."

Draco moaned happily. "I want to have your babies."

"I got us a hotel room for later, sweetheart," Tuck answer affably.

Harry couldn't help but make a very childish retching noise. One of Tuck's men gave him a look of sympathy.

"I'd like to say ya get used to it, but ya don't," he said.

"Pauley," Draco said conversationally to the speaker.

"Hey, Drew. I mean, uh . . . Aw, damn, what are we calling ya now?"

This made Chris purse her lips and look very unhappy. Peter gripped her elbow to make her keep her mouth shut. False identities aside, these two men had proved they could be trusted, and Chris had to let it go at least long enough to finish this.

"You're not calling me anything, because I'm not here," Draco said soberly, and all four men nodded with understanding. This was something they understood. Harry had often wondered what Draco had done with himself for nearly five years in America, but now he knew. He'd been with these guys, doing Merlin knew what. He ought to feel upset about it, but he'd already known Draco's friends were criminals and they'd already all agreed that there was a truce between them until John had been apprehended.

"Where's your wife?" Tuck asked, his hand looking huge on Draco's shoulder. "I wanted ta meet her."

"Wait, wait, you got _married_?" one of the other guys broke in.

Draco shot him a glare. "Yes, Don, I got married, and my wife is currently at home in England with my stepson where they're safe."

"Your step _what_?"

Harry looked at Don with interest. "Why is that so hard to believe?"

"Because he's like, a player."

"Oh, please," Draco mumbled.

"I saw you dancing at the club," Don insisted. "With all those hot young things. Now you're married?"

"I got over the hot young thing phase," Draco said dryly. "For God's sake, I'm a schoolteacher. Besides, my wife is amazing and wonderful and twenty times as gorgeous as any of those girls."

All three sidekicks rolled their eyes, but Tuck grinned, and clapped him on the shoulder again. "I knew ya'd get there eventually. I told ya, didn't I? Once ya find the right woman, you're stuck wid her."

"Yeah, you told me all right. How is Lisa, anyway? Where is she? I thought she was coming."

"She's driving da car."

A little silver Taurus pulled up, and Harry blinked. Lisa, he presumed, got out of the very nondescript car. She was blond, which looked like a dye job, and extremely unassuming in appearance. Medium height, not thin nor fat, face neither ugly nor pretty. But when she walked up to the very eye-catching man with the tattoos and rippling muscles, Tuck slid his arm around her and she molded into his side like they'd been built to fit together that way.

"Drew, how are you?" she said with a cautious smile. "I thought you were blond now. What happened?"

Chris let out a deep and aggrieved sigh, and Draco and Harry both winced. They really would have to just sit down and explain everything to her. Her friendship with Peter was pretty much shot to hell over this, anyway.

"You know," Chris said in a mocking, thoughtful tone, "some people might think it was stupid to _recycle_ fake names."

"You know," Harry said in the same tone, "some people weren't planning to ship their entire families over here for nearly two months."

"Whatever," Tuck growled, and his voice cut through all possible arguments and made it clear who was going to be in charge from this moment forward. "Would someone maybe possibly like to fill us in, here? Me and my boys are da ones gonna get shot at or something."

"You won't get shot at," Draco said with assurance. "You're just going to distract this guy for a few minutes while we surround him and disarm him."

"See?" Tuck said, making a face at Lisa, who smiled encouragingly. "We're all gonna die."

"I know, baby," she said comfortably. "That's why we went to confession this morning."

They smiled at each other, shared a brief kiss, and turned to face the others again.

"So, let's get started," Tuck said.

"I'm going to call my wife first," Draco said.

"Your wife," Don repeated in a mumble, shaking his head.

"I want to call her before we leave," he said defensively. "Just so she knows I won't be around for a few hours if she needs to talk to me."

"They're redecorating the house," Harry told Don brightly. "He's just worried she'll need his input on the drapes."

Don made a gagging noise. "I thought you were hardcore, man," he said sadly, giving Draco a shake of his head. "What happened?"

Draco fixed him with a dangerous look. "I can still tie you up in your own intenstines with nothing more than an effort of will, you know."

"How come when he says that, I believe him?" the still-unnamed sidekick muttered.

Tuck, the only one who hadn't had his memory wiped every time Draco had been forced to do magic while a part of their group, chuckled a bit evilly.

"Well, let the man call his wife," Lisa spoke up. "I want to get this over and done."

"Yeah, I want ta get back home before Bonnie gets out of school," Tuck said.

Harry noted that no one rolled their eyes at Tuck or claimed that he was not hardcore.

* * *

The first thing Draco saw when he peered out from the fireplace into his home was his stepson's legs. Ran was sitting cross-legged in front of the fire reading something. He tilted his head a bit and gathered that it was a book of historic Quidditch matches and the plays that made them famous. His movement caught Ran's eye.

"Oh! Draco, hey."

"Hi. We're getting ready to go, and I wanted to talk to your mother. Can you get her for me?"

"She's not here," Ran said, his voice bright and unconcerned.

Draco frowned. Ran was never bright and unconcerned.

"Where is she?"

"Out," Ran said, still chipper.

"Randolph Edwards, where is my wife?"

He dropped the act and his face drew in with fear. "At the doctor."

"What? Why?"

"She didn't tell me," he said, trailing a finger along the floor, looking down. "She didn't want me to know she was going there, but I made her tell me. She said I couldn't tell you."

"Why the bloody hell not?" he demanded, and Ran winced.

"I don't know."

"You just let her go off to the doctor without asking why?"

Ran scowled. "Of course I asked why. She wouldn't tell me."

"You could have-"

"She's my _mother_," Ran said in a dangerously low tone, and Draco was suddenly, forcibly reminded that Ran had been her son a lot longer that he himself had been her husband.

"I'm sorry," Draco said. "Ran . . . I'm very worried."

"Me, too," Ran whispered. "She's still acting weird, like you said when you were in the hospital."

Draco's shoulders and knees were aching, but he just sat in the fireplace and muttered very foul language. Ran drooped and looked more and more miserable the longer they looked at each other without saying anything.

"If she's sick, and she didn't tell me . . ."

"Can you come home now?" Ran said, and wiped the back of his hand over his eyes quickly. "Something's wrong with her, and I'm scared."

"I have to finish this up, and I'll be there tomor—"

"Please, Dad?" Ran whispered, not looking at him.

Draco's mouth snapped shut, and he blinked furiously. "I'm coming," he said hoarsely. "I'll be there as soon as I can."

He jerked his head out of the fireplace and limped along to meet Peter and Harry, who were coming to look for him and tell him to hurry up.

"I'm not coming with you."

"What? What happened to all that 'I have to see this through' crap?" Peter barked out.

"I'm going home," Draco said, ignoring Peter and looking at Harry, trying not to hyperventilate. "Something's wrong with Vianne."

"What?" Harry asked with concern.

"I don't know," he said, and started to feel fear squeezing around him. "Ran doesn't know, either. She's at the doctor, and she won't say why. I have to go."

"Draco, you're the one that knows Tuck and—"

"You'll have to do it without me, Harry," Draco said firmly. "My family needs me."

Harry nodded. "Go. I'll see you soon. Let us know if you need anything."

Draco nodded back gratefully, and immediately Apparated to the International Floo Station to get himself home as quickly as possible.

* * *

Peter opened the door to Lisa's car, grumbling to himself about needing to use Muggle transportation for this and how messy it could get. The door closed firmly in front of him, nearly smashing his fingers, and he jerked back and scowled at Chris.

"You can ride with me and fill me in on a couple of things," she said.

Peter clenched his jaw and said nothing.

"Come on," she said impatiently. "I'm parked right there."

"Chris, don't even start."

"I'm coming with you, Peter," she said, her eyes flashing.

"No, you're not. I told you that you're not. I'm not going to argue about it with you."

"Good, because I don't want to argue. I don't drive well when I'm upset."

Peter grabbed her arm at the elbow with a crushing grip and dragged her away from everyone.

"Watch it, there, Putnam," she said in a tight voice. "Don't make me arrest you for assaulting an officer."

"You know I don't exist, Chris," he said quietly. "So we both know you won't do that."

"And I didn't _think_ you'd ever hurt me," she replied.

He hadn't realized he was, and loosened his hand without completely letting go. "You still don't get it, do you? After all this time." He would never admit how badly this case had angered and frightened him, but the idea of Chris going with them today . . . it made him sick to his stomach to think of what could happen to her.

"Get what?"

"Of course I won''t hurt you," he said in dismay. "All I ever do is try to keep people from hurting you."

"Keep me from ever knowing they exist, you mean," Chris snapped, jerking out of his grasp. "I can't believe how much I've found out about you that I didn't know. And I never would have known, if you had your way, would I?"

"No."

"Why not?"

"I've told you why not. You're better off that way."

"That's what you think, isn't it?" Chris hissed. "You honestly think I'm better off not even knowing who you are."

"I told you more than I ever should have. This summer has been like a nightmare, with how much you've started to figure out."

"It hasn't killed me yet, though, has it, Peter?" she asked sarcastically.

"Not yet!" Peter shouted, temper breaking. "But it might!"

She took a step back, staring at him. He'd never really shouted at her before.

"What the fuck do you think? That I don't really like you, that I don't want to tell you everything about me? I would take you home to my parents and let my mother show you my fucking baby pictures if I could, but I can't do that! The world I live in is fucking dangerous, and you could get hurt! You could get killed! Do you think I would ever forgive myself if I let that happen? Do you?"

She stared at him in shocked silence. "I'm a cop," she said at last, in a small voice. She sounded defeated, like she had back when they'd been in that hospital in Boston. Back then, Peter had sworn to himself that when it came to Muggles, h'd give her all the room she needed to be a tough and courageous cop, but when it came to his world, he'd keep her as safe as a newborn kitten.

"Peter. I'm a police officer. This is my job."

Peter dropped his head and the volume of his voice. "Not this time, Chris. This case has had me so confused, and that kind of scares me. You just don't have the things you need to survive today if something goes wrong. I don't even know what I'm going up against. I can't . . ." Peter had never been good with communication. He didn't know what to say. "I can't watch you get hurt. Don't make me watch that."

"Peter, are you expecting to die today?" She sounded like she was asking in earnest, not joking.

He sighed. "I expect it every time I go on these kind of assignments."

"Oh. I didn't know."

Peter was abruptly upset again. He'd spent the last eight years doing this, trying without ever saying a word to show her . . . it was exhausting.

"Christine Bernard, we would be married and solving the world's problems together by now if I weren't so worried, just so damned afraid that I'd get killed and leave you alone facing all the enemies I've made."

"We would?" she asked weakly, looking puzzled. "I didn't think you . . . well, I knew we were friends, but you're not attracted to me or anything, I mean, I'm kind of ugly and everything, so I figured that you—"

He grabbed her by the arms, pulled her forward, and kissed her roughly. "There," he rasped. "Now you know."

She blinked comically. "Right. Now I know. Um, what do I know?"

"That I fucking love you, stupid." He leaned his chin on the top of her head and sighed deeply. "Now would you please go home, for my sake?"

"That depends," she said, her voice pained. "Will you come there after you catch John so we can talk?"

"There's nothing to talk about, Chris."

She pulled away from him, looking fierce. "Oh, I see. I'm not allowed to love you back, is that it? You can fight to protect me, but I can't want to keep you safe just as much? You think it doesn't drive me crazy, when I see you come limping back from yet another fight you can't talk about? You think I don't want to—"

He kissed her again. "Apparently, this is only way to shut you up. Fine. I'll come over."

"You promise?" she said, sounding coy.

"Don't turn into a _girl_ on me, Chris."

She raised an eyebrow, he groaned, and then they both laughed.

"I know what it's like," Chris said soberly after a minute. "I can't ask you to promise you'll come back safe. But I'll hope for it, okay?"

"Hope is good," he said softly. "I'll come back."


	27. Chapter 26: Justice

_Wow, there has been quite an outpouring of enthusiasm for Peter and Chris' big smooch, and I'm glad! They deserve a little happiness! Anyway, I know you're all wondering about Vianne, but it's just going to have to wait a little while longer, while we deal with "the John guy" . . ._

* * *

Chapter Twenty-Six

Justice

Harry and Peter waited on edge. Peter had sweat on his forehead that he was ignoring, the clear drops trickling down his temples slowly. Tuck was chatting nonchalantly with his cohorts, looking very unconcerned. Harry knew Draco had made sure Tuck understood how dangerous this could get, but he didn't seem bothered by it. The only wizards he knew had used their magic in his defense, so maybe he just didn't grasp the kind of damage John and Annie had the potential to cause.

Harry was assuming the worst about John, no matter what he'd said to Shawn. John was likely a very capable wizard with no qualms about causing pain, and it was going to take everything he and Peter had to make sure no one got hurt when they arrested the man. He wished Draco were here—his confidence increased exponentially with the number of wizards present—but Draco wouldn't have done any good today. He couldn't separate himself, like Harry had learned to. He couldn't put his anxiety about his wife away for two hours to focus on the situation, and Harry didn't blame him. He was worried about Vianne, too, but he set it aside. When he was doing this, the risky part of his job, he had to push thoughts of his family out to leave him with a crystal clear look at what he was doing.

He looked at Peter again. The cold, calculating man was still sweating, and was obviously thinking about something other than capturing John. Harry had seen him with Chris, earlier. He'd cast a _Muffliato_ spell over himself, but it was obvious to anyone looking that they were arguing, shouting and waving their arms around. It had been quite a shock to see Peter grab her and kiss her, but Harry had laughed. Finally.

Still, this wasn't the time.

"Peter, focus," he whispered. They waited under his fail-safe Invisibility Cloak, which Peter admired and had no clue about the true significance of. It was prefect for what it was meant to do, but they'd still be discovered if they made any noise. Peter just nodded, giving Harry a hard, determined look. He'd realized what he was doing. Harry didn't think Peter would need another reminder.

This was going to go so badly wrong. Harry knew it on a visceral level. Annie had gotten very upset when they put her in a car, insisting that they Apparate, that she hated Muggle transportation. She'd done something, it was obvious. She'd made some kind of plan with John based on the idea that they would be Apparating to the meeting point, but she apparently hadn't taken into account that Harry and Peter would stay with Tuck, Lisa, and the men the whole time. Maybe it didn't occur to her that they didn't want any harm to come to these people. They were criminals, yes, but good-hearted ones somehow, and they were risking their lives just because Draco had asked them to.

Annie was waiting next to Pauley. She had been informed that Pauley, too, was a wizard, and was keeping an eye on her just in case she did anything untoward. They hadn't found it strictly necessary to tell her that Pauley's skill with magic rivaled Harry's cooking. If she did act up, the best Pauley could do would be to take out the gun Harry was pretty sure he was carrying and knock her in the head with it.

There was a loud crack that echoed across the deserted rest stop parking lot. They all jumped, and Pauley gripped Annie's arm with a silent warning. Harry's heart pounded, and Peter carefully raised his arm to wipe the sweat from his forehead with the back of his wrist. John was here. And he was crazy. Merlin, the man had to be insane. He knew that Tuck and his men were Muggles, and still he chose to Apparate practically right in front of them? John didn't have much respect for what Peter had termed the Gag Act, the U.S. version of the Statute of Secrecy. But then, they'd already known that. He'd ordered and encouraged the distribution of potions among Muggles.

The man strolled out of the gathering dusk calmly, but Harry could see the wand in his hand. He was wary. Very well, they'd expected that as well. He was probably even more so now, since whatever Annie had tried to set up had fallen through.

"You're John?" Tuck called out, stepping forward and stealing the scene, as always. The man had such a presence that Harry didn't know if John would even notice Annie was here. With the setting sun gleaming off his bald head and obscuring the tattoos, Harry shouldn't wonder if John was practically blinded, anyway.

"You must be . . . what was the name?"

"Tuck," the big man answered. He did not offer to introduce the rest of them.

Harry licked his lips, and heard Peter swallow. This was it. Size the man up, and then make their move.

"That's . . ." Peter whispered.

Harry gave him an alarmed look. Why was he speaking? Peter saw his expression, and shook his head very slowly.

"So, then," John said, sounding perfectly controlled and comfortable. "Would you mind telling me what we're doing here?"

Tuck's neutral and stern face made Harry abruptly wonder if he played poker. He gave none of his surprise at the question away.

"I thought you knew why we was here."

"Oh, I know the story I got. I'd like to know why you're holding Ms. Bradshaw captive and forcing me to come rescue her."

Tuck folded his arms, and the lie he told was smooth and easy. Maybe he'd gotten lessons from Draco.

"She wasn't very cooperative. Let's just say I'm willin' ta do a lot to get involved in what you've got going. You're small-time right now, and I want ta take it all da way."

"With a nice, healthy profit for yourself, of course." John shook his head, and it turned his face toward where Harry and Peter waited under the cloak. Harry got his first good look at the man. About fifty to fifty-five, gray hair and cold eyes. A jaw that could cut diamonds and an ugly scar above his left eye. "I don't think so, Mr. Tuck."

"It's just Tuck."

Peter's heavy breathing distracted Harry, and he gave him a questioning glance with his eyebrows raised.

"Shit," Peter whispered in response.

That didn't really give Harry any more confidence in how the next few minutes would turn out. Something was wrong, something he wasn't seeing and Peter was. He looked at Annie, pale and scared, being gripped carefully by Pauley. Tuck, out front, his arms crossed and his face calm. John, facing them all, his gray hair styled back and severe dark red robes open to reveal black trousers and shirt.

"I simply came here to retrieve my pupil," John said calmly, looking at Annie. "I have no intentions of doing business with you."

With a sudden growl of rage, Peter threw off the Invisibility Cloak, leaving Harry still hiding under it and blinking with disbelief.

"What exactly are your intentions, John Rafferty?" he called out.

John's wand had flicked a spell at Peter before he'd finished speaking, but Peter deflected it quickly. He stood there with his hands balled into fists and glaring at the older man.

"He stole my line," Tuck muttered, but all focus was on Peter now.

"You know me," John said.

"I do."

"How?"

"I spent two years looking for you."

"You work for the government," John said, his eyes gleaming with some kind of malicious intent. Harry didn't think there was anything he hated more than seeing that look on the face of someone who meant harm to innocent people. He'd seen it too many times in his life. It was almost joy, this pleasure in hurting others.

"I do. They detailed me to find you after you deserted. They closed the file after two years with no leads."

"Did you do any work up in Canada before the advent of the illustrious foreign ambassadors who came to save us from our heathen Western ways?"

Peter ignored all the jibes in the question. "I was a black ops soldier, yes."

"And you heard about some of the children left behind by the system, some of the young wizards who killed themselves or their loved ones, because there was no one to explain what they were?"

"I've heard," Peter answered, still calm, "and I've located some of them to get them introduced to our world."

"Knowing what you know, then, can you blame me for leaving?"

"Not really," Peter answered soberly. "I'm only here to hold you accountable for sabotaging us and undermining what we're trying to do, instead of trying to improve things. I'm here to get justice for the lives you've ruined, Rafferty."

Rafferty grinned. "I see. You're an agent."

"Yes. Just like you were."

Harry had never seen Peter go so cold. He was very impressed. Peter could have been made out of stone. He didn't fear John Rafferty, at least not so anyone could tell. There were no traces of sweat on his face now. He'd faced off against dangerous men before, and he'd always lived to talk about it. Rafferty, too, had been what Peter was, and he was no more effected by fear. They faced each other calmly. Harry had been thinking ever since meeting Peter how easily the agents could be corrupted, and now he was looking at proof of it.

"Yes, but Morris became so lazy by the time I left, I feel sure you have no idea what a real agent even looks like."

"Morris doesn't supervise the agents anymore."

"Oh, no? Who does?"

"Mum Parish."

Rafferty took a moment to place the name. "Ah, Chrysanthemum Parish. I remember. Goodness, maybe you do know what a good agent is, then."

Peter looked at Rafferty with a face of steel and stone and hard, cold things that made a man shiver and wish there were comfort in the world.

"If there's one thing I know, Rafferty, it's that I'm a damn good agent. I'm here to arrest you."

"Obviously. What's your name, son?"

Peter's nostrils flared, the only sign that he was a living, breathing person. "I am not your son. My name is Peter Putnam."

Then Rafferty grinned, his even white teeth gleaming in the darkness as the sun slipped beneath the horizon. "Ah. A Putnam."

"What of it?"

"I knew your father, young Peter. I know why you're agent. I know why you fight so hard. It's a matter of pride, isn't it?"

"I don't know what you mean, I'm afraid."

"I know what your ancestors did at Salem, boy. I know what your family caused. Even a wizard can't survive being crushed by stones, can he? Even a witch will die if you hang her long enough. Your family's lies and deceit caused the deaths of good people, Peter Putnam. And now here you are, generations later, trying to make up for it. How much blood is on your hands, boy? How much blood, just to clean the blood on hands that are dead and buried hundreds of years past?"

Peter looked stricken, and powerless. Rafferty's words had touched off some deep despair at the core of the man, a generations-old shame that had settled itself over Peter as a young boy and slowly smothered him ever since. Harry felt sorry for Peter, the way he did for Draco. Family heritage could be a blessing, as he found it, but for these men it was a terrible curse. And Rafferty was opening the wounds and rubbing salt in them. Harry had no doubt that Peter would rally back any moment and fight Rafferty, but he thought he'd save Peter the trouble.

"_Incarcerous_!" he shouted, dropping the cloak and pointing the wand at Rafferty's back, having circled around him while he spoke to Peter.

Rafferty deflected the curse before it had finished leaving Harry's mouth, and it hit Lisa, standing just to the side of Tuck. Lisa fell with a cry, bound in magical ropes. Tuck's men jerked and shouted in surprise and confusion, trying to hide behind one another, but mesmerized by what unfolded in front of them.

Harry and Peter slung spells at Rafferty in tandem, but the man was a brilliant wizard, that was obvious. He shielded, he deflected, he turned a few back on them to make them jump to defend themselves. They worked quickly, not leaving him any room to take an offensive stance. He was really, really good, Harry thought desperately. Even between them, he and Peter couldn't hit Rafferty with one spell. It was definitely a losing battle, though. Rafferty couldn't hold both of them back as long as they could keep firing, and one spell would eventually land on him. Even Rafferty could see it. There was fear on his face. Fear, for the first time.

"John!" Annie shouted suddenly. "John, don't fight them! They won't hurt you if you just do what they ask!"

"Pauley, what happened to watching that bitch?" Tuck shouted, interrupting her.

The man spun around, his dark red robes swirling around his legs, catching sight of Annie, but he didn't let her distract him from defending himself.

"John, please," she cried out, her face distraught. "I can't bear to see you hurt. We've done terrible things, lots of terrible things, but, John, please, if you love me . . ."

"Love?" he grunted. "_Protego!_ Love is a strong word, Annie girl. You're a wonderful tool, and I'm very fond of you, certainly. You're very pretty, you know."

The dismay on her face was heart-wrenching. Harry's gut tightened, seeing the way she crumpled as Rafferty spoke the cruel words. She loved him. The man had taken her when she was fifteen, and forced everything he wanted on her. The way she looked at him, Harry knew what 'everything' likely included. She had Stockholm Syndrome, bad. She'd convinced herself that Rafferty wasn't a bad man, and that he loved her. She was finally being told that he'd only wanted her for what she offered. He must be a father figure as much as a lover, a tutor and a boyfriend and her whole world.

"Oh, Annie girl," he grunted with amusement. "You've always known what I am."

With a wild look, eyes wide and full of angry tears, Annie screamed. No words, just an anguished scream as her world for the last fifteen years collapsed. When she ran out of breath, she gasped in a desperate breath, and fixed Rafferty with a look of raw fury.

"I slept with Shawn, you know," she said. "That's how I convinced him to do it. I had sex with the boy to get him to make all that Red-Hot."

Rafferty's face twisted in rage at that, at hearing that he'd lost exclusive rights to his Annie-girl. He roared in anger, and then the wand that he'd been using to deflect his spells flicked toward her.

"No!" Harry shouted.

He and Rafferty spoke at the same time.

"_Sectumsempra_!"

"_Avada Kedavra_!"

Rafferty cried out in pain as Harry's spell slashed open his wrist down to the bone, and the wand fell from his hand. He screamed and gripped his arm against his chest. Peter triumphantly finished him off, binding him and petrifying him. Then he followed Harry's horrified eyes to Annie.

The woman with the beautiful spill of multi-hued brown hair lay on the ground, completely still. Salty tears were still clinging to her eyelids. As they watched, one dripped onto her cheek and slid down her temple and was lost in her hair. Her face had lost all animation, and her skin was quickly fading.

"She just wanted someone to show her who she was," Harry heard himself say. He turned on Rafferty, his wand raised, breathing ragged. "What have you done?"

Peter's hand closed on Harry's wrist. "This man is under arrest. He's going to pay for what he's done. I promise."

Harry withdrew his wand, and stared down at Annie, dead there on the ground. Hot tears burned his eyes. He hated his job. He couldn't do anything else, this is what he was born for, his successes made him feel like a hero and a saviour, the way they all said he was . . . but he hated these moments. He hated failing. He hated it when he couldn't protect someone the way he was supposed to.

He knelt down and closed her eyes.

"I guess you didn't really need us," Tuck spoke up gruffly.

"I'm sorry," Harry said, but his voice was hollow and unconvincing. He had nothing to spare for Tuck just now, he was expending all his energy to keep it together. He didn't know this woman, but he knew enough about her to know she shouldn't have died this way. "I'm sorry for wasting your time. You guys can go."

"All right. Tell Draco good luck wid his old lady, will ya?"

Harry nodded.

"Draco?" Rafferty grunted. He stood there with his hands bound together, the corner of his robe wrapped around his wrist. His wand had been taken away by Peter, but Peter had healed just enough of the wound to make sure the man wouldn't bleed to death. "You're British. You know that celebrity hotshot wizard, Draco Malfoy, don't you?"

Harry sighed, and looked at Rafferty with despair. "I'm so tired of wearing contacts," he said. "And now I don't have to." He Vanished his contacts and the stupid brown hair dye, and pulled his glasses from his pocket. Before he put them on, he rubbed his shirt sleeve viciously across his forehead. "And I'm _really_ tired of wearing Ginny's makeup." He slipped the glasses on, and stared at Rafferty with loathing. Black hair, glasses, and a lightning-bolt scar.

Disbelief tinged Rafferty's surprised chuckle. "You're not . . ."

"Harry Potter."

"Always wondered what you'd be like in person," Rafferty muttered, and then sank down on the ground, pale and shaky with blood loss.

Harry looked down at Annie's body again, and he put an arm under her back to lift her over his shoulder. He would take her body to . . . well, to Mum Parish, he supposed. But Peter shouldered Harry out of the way.

"That's for me to do," he said quietly. "She's my responsibility."

He cradled the body of the lonely, damaged woman who shouldn't have had to die, holding it like a baby in front of him. Her hair fell over her face and he clenched his jaw.

"Will you . . . move that?"

Surprised, Harry brushed the hair back with his hand, leaving her white face visible.

"She deserved better," Peter muttered. "Will you get Rafferty back to the State Department, please?" He waited for Harry's nod, and Disapparated with Annie's body.

"Annie girl," Harry heard Rafferty say softly.

He spun around to face the man with a vicious look. "You say another word, and I'll kill you. I have no problem claiming you were trying to escape."

The man opened his mouth to say something mocking, but light glowed at the tip of Harry's wand.

"Not one fucking word," he spat, and he grabbed hold of Rafferty's arm and took him in to face justice.


	28. Chapter 27: Fixing What's Broken

_Yeah, I know that last chapter pretty much blew, and I thank you guys for your honesty there. I had a hard time writing that scene, for some reason. Anyway, this chapter is me back to my usual mayhem, so hopefully you like this one better._

_Just in case you'd been wondering what in the world was wrong with that Flip girl . . . here it is. But you're not going to like it._

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Chapter Twenty-Seven

Fixing What's Broken

"You actually thought I'd leave you?" Draco shouted, making her flinch back.

"I knew you'd be angry," she said miserably.

"Angry? I'm furious! You've been keeping this from me for three _months_!"

"You haven't even been here, Draco!" Vianne snapped.

"I would have been, if you'd bothered to tell me what was going on!"

"Why? You're angry with me, and you hate me, and you're going to—"

"I'm not going anywhere," he interrupted viciously. "Do you hear me?"

"Neither am I," Vianne said, her voice nearly as ferocious. "You haven't quite gotten that through your head though, have you?"

Draco stared at her, his words momentarily paused. She could almost see the thoughts going through his head. He was thinking that he was hideously ugly, that he was useless, that she could find better men than him in any random pub. He'd thought it enough times before now that she knew what it looked like when he was thinking it.

"After all this time, you still don't understand how much you mean to me, do you?" she asked quietly, unable to keep the hurt out of her voice.

He took a calming breath and let it out slowly. "I'm trying to," he said, and he cupped her face and kissed her deeply. "I love you."

"Mmmm," she said against his lips.

"Vianne? I'm happy."

"But you—"

"I'm very, very happy."

"Mmm."

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Harry called Ginny from the police captain's office to tell her that things were over and he would be there soon. They were going back home to London tomorrow, thank Merlin. Finally, they were going home. She hadn't heard anything from Draco about Vianne, nor even from Matt, who'd rushed over there from Basil's when he heard Draco was making an emergency trip home. Harry was worried, and he wanted to be with his family, but first he went to Greenwood Prep. Several of the students had promised to wait around there to hear if the real culprit behind the Red-Hot craze was caught. Once they'd found out Shawn was nothing more than a tool who'd been manipulated, they'd been anxious to hear that the man wielding the tool was not a threat to them anymore.

Harry appeared behind the cafeteria, and he headed for the bleachers by the football field, where he thought he'd likely find Stace, Kendall, and Edward waiting. What he found was something else altogether. As he approached the field, he could hear them before he could see them.

"Oh my god," Kendall was repeating over and over again, her voice shocked and frightened. "Oh my god."

"Edward, please wake up. Oh, shit, he can't hear me, anyway," Stace said in frustration, his voice shaking. "Oh, god, what do I do? Did anyone call an ambulance yet?"

"Yeah, I did," Kendall said, her voice trembling. "And I called his mom, and I told her he was . . . Oh, Eddie, oh no."

"What have you done, you little slut?" That was Landon's voice, and Harry was surprised to realize he was here, too. He'd reacted to the news of Shawn's discovery by closing off completely, not speaking to anyone, yet here he was waiting to hear how John's arrest had gone. "Are you happy?" he hissed.

The answer to that was a sob, and Harry had the sickening feeling that he knew what had happened. He broke into a run and came out onto the field to find Landon holding Courtney Ware with both arms twisted behind her back, while she cried. They stood beside the bleachers, looking behind the seats. Kendall and Stace knelt down on the ground behind the bleachers, bending over the form of Edward Cavanaugh.

There was a flash of light, and Harry saw that Stace had his wand out and was casting desperate spells over Edward. Edward wasn't moving. A dark stain was spreading out in a halo around Edward's head, and Harry gasped, sprinting the last few steps.

Stace and Kendall looked up from Edward at the sound of running feet, and they both went slack with relief to see him.

"Mr. Edwards," Kendall whimpered. "Please help Eddie. I think his neck is broken. His head is bleeding really bad."

"What happened?" Harry asked as he went to his knees, taking stock of the injuries to the boy. Edward's white, still face nearly made him throw up. Edward looked just like Annie . . . no, no, he wasn't dead. He was still breathing. Barely.

"I Petrified him so he wouldn't move his neck," Stace whispered hoarsely. "I was trying to stop the bleeding, but he's so cold . . . I put a warming spell on him, too."

Nobody was asking questions. They were too scared to wonder at what Stace had done.

"You did great," Harry said, feeling calm. "Stace, you did exactly right. Good job."

Stace looked at him with eyes full of hope. "You know what to do, sir?"

"Yes," Harry said with assurance. "You already called an ambulance?"

"Yeah."

"Okay, then I won't heal the blow to the back of his head completely, I'll leave something for them to see. I'll fix his neck, though." Harry cast a spell first, one Madam Pomfrey had taught him, and gulped. "It's broken, all right." He took a deep, shuddering breath, and hoped against hope that he could get this right. He first reversed Stace's petrifying spell, then he healed the break. "If we're lucky, I got here before serious damage set in." He carefully cast spells to bring down the swelling in Edward's head, but didn't heal the split in his scalp. It would be difficult to explain the blood with no open wound.

With that, all they could do was wait for the ambulance. Harry felt as shaky as Stace looked. Edward wouldn't die. But Harry couldn't guarantee that he wouldn't be paralyzed. He didn't know anything about how to check for nerve damage, or how to heal it if it was present. He didn't think magic could do much in those situations.

He looked up at Courtney, still locked tight in Landon's grip. Landon was still wearing a cast on his ankle and a brace on his wrist, and he was obviously in pain, but he wasn't letting go of the girl.

"How did this happen?" Harry asked, feeling resigned, now. He already knew. Draco had told him all about Courtney's obsession with him.

"Flip was yelling at him," Kendall offered when Courtney didn't speak. She was wiping tears from her cheeks with shaking hands. "She said it was his fault she never got to—" She blushed and looked away.

"My brother already told me what she wanted," Harry said.

"Oh. Well, she said she was so close, and that Eddie interrupted her . . . she was just screaming at him, and she pushed him off the bleachers. He fell right on his head. And when he didn't get up . . ." Kendall sniffled. "Is he okay?"

"He's going to be fine," Harry said with all the confidence he could muster.

"She tried to run," Landon said gruffly, giving Courtney's arms a jerk, making her gasp in pain. "But I stopped her."

The whining alarm of an approaching ambulance was now joined by faint flashes of light as it got closer, pulling into the school parking lot.

"Did you arrest the guy?" Stace spoke up. "Did you get him?"

"We got him," Harry answered, but the look on his face gave him away.

"What happened?"

"He killed the woman. The one that trained Shawn. He killed her."

The ambulance was almost here.

Harry Obliviated Kendall and Courtney. He didn't bother with Landon. Landon had known about magic for too long to make memory charms worthwhile. Then he greeted the ambulance, said he came to the school to get his wallet, which he'd accidentally left here, and found the kids. He explained that the kids had been frightened and had exaggerated Edward's injuries. Then he took a deep breath, and went to meet Edward's parents, running across the field. He told them that Edward was going to be okay, that they didn't need to panic. They were silent, but they seemed to trust him.

A couple of police officers showed up, but Courtney wasn't under arrest. It was obvious she was horrified by what had happened, and that she hadn't meant for Edward to be so badly injured. She was in tears and afraid. Edward's father said they didn't want to press charges. They looked sorry for the poor girl, rather than angry with her. As the confusion started to die down, and the other teenagers confirmed that they didn't think Courtney had been trying to hurt Edward, Harry started to feel more and more exhausted. He really, really wanted to go home.

Veronica Cavanaugh took hold of Harry's arm and pulled him away from the others. He followed her, confused, throwing a look at her husband. Edward, Senior frowned, looking puzzled, but didn't interfere.

"I know who ye are," the woman said, brushing back the silky black hair she shared with her son.

Harry jumped in shock. "You're Irish."

"Yes, I am. And you're English. Your name is Harry Potter, and my older sister worships the ground you walk on."

"What?" Harry asked dumbly.

"My sister, Noreen Finnegan," Veronica said slowly.

Harry shook his head, and he put his hands to his temples and started rubbing. "If you tell me that you're Seamus Finnegan's aunt, I'm going to throw myself into traffic," he muttered.

"I won't tell you, then," the woman said, sounding amused.

"Bloody hell," Harry muttered. "No wonder Edward figured us out so quickly. His own mother is a witch."

"I'm a Squib, actually," she said pleasantly. "But no matter. I just wanted to ask you what you're doin' here, Mr. Potter."

"Just my job," he sighed. "I just finished helping an American agent apprehend the man who's been responsible for this mess with Red-Hot."

"The drug Edward's been sayin' all the students are getting' hooked on?"

"It's a potion," Harry explained. "Mrs. Cavanaugh, this is quite possibly the most surreal conversation I've had in a while, but I really have reached my limit of things I can deal with today. I'm afraid you're going to have to excuse me."

"Of course," she said, but she placed her hand on his arm and gave him a warm smile. "Thank ye for what you just did for my boy, Mr. Potter. When Kendall called me, she said his neck was broken."

"I did my best," Harry shrugged. "Don't thank me yet."

"I'll thank ye for doin' what ye could," she said, then she patted his arm and let him go. "Ye look like ye could use some sleep, Mr. Potter."

"That I could. I'll give you a call and check on Edward tomorrow, if that's all right."

"If you'd like."

"Doug and Morgan would never forgive me if I didn't tell them."  
Veronica smiled with real amusement. "I heard about them. We had a good long talk about the nature of his relationships with perfect strangers."

"They're good kids."

Veronica just smiled again. "Go home to your family, Mr. Potter. Thanks again."

Harry gave her a weary smile and stumbled away, wondering if he could Apparate without splinching himself in this state.

But he didn't. He saw something that froze him.

Courtney Ware was walking between her parents, looking extremely subdued. That was something Harry didn't understand. Crazy, yes, and capable of wild mood swings. But he'd never seen her lifeless like that. It worried him. He followed them away from the scene, toward the place they'd parked their car.

"Get in," Courtney was told by her father.

"Yes, sir," she said, sounding dull, or maybe a bit sullen.

"Courtney!" Harry called out.

Her head snapped around, her eyes bright with hope.

"Can I help you, sir?" her father said.

"You're Courtney's dad?"

"He's my stepdad," she said.

He shot her a glare. She sat down in the backseat of the car without another word.

"I just wanted to tell Courtney that Edward is going to be fine, and tell her goodbye. I'll be leaving tomorrow."

"And what is that to her, exactly?" her stepfather asked coldly.

"Nothing," Courtney said quickly. "Bye, I guess."

"Be polite, Courtney," her mother said.

"It's Flip," she muttered with an ugly look at the woman.

"Don't speak to your mother like that."

"Yes, sir."

Harry was rapidly putting this together, but he didn't think there was any way he was going to get a straight answer to his questions. But he couldn't just leave things how they were, either. He had no time.

"Toil and trouble. Well, I've broken enough rules already," he muttered. He withdrew his wand and pointed it at Courtney, whose eyes widened and she tried to duck. "_Legilmens_."

Memories flashed through his mind. Her memories. Courtney's life flew past like a movie in rewind. Harry gagged, threw up in his mouth, and yanked himself out of her head.

"What are you doing?" Courtney shrieked. Her hands pressed to her head, and she screamed. "What have you _done_?" She jumped from the car, and threw herself at him, and started pounding on his chest with her fists, screaming and crying. "You had no right to do that! I hate you! I hate you!" She knew what he'd seen. She'd been forced to relive it, too. "You stupid asshole! You idiot! What have you done?"

Sobbing and shaking, she let Harry catch her wrists, stop her from hitting him. She let him pull her in and hold her against him protectively. He looked down at her red, tear-streaked face. She had freckles across the bridge of her nose, just like Charlotte did. Like his daughter. And just as if it had been his daughter, he was beyond furious.

"What the hell?" her stepfather said. "What's going on? Courtney, get away from that man and come here now." He took a step forward.

Harry's wand touched his forehead and stopped him. Harry held Courtney in close to one side, using himself to shield her from the man he held at wandpoint.

"Leave," he whispered hoarsely, struggling so hard to control his voice that he couldn't speak out loud. "Now."

The man stared at him for only a few seconds before his face drained of all colour, and he got in the car, slamming the door shut, ignoring his wife's questions and calls for her daughter. He drove away.

"I hate you," Courtney wept.

"Yeah, I know," Harry sighed.

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"Hey, Chris?"

"Who is this?"

"It's Harry."

"Who's Harry?"

"Oh, sorry, it's Drew. Well, about time you knew, anyway. If Peter's there, he can explain."

"He's here. So, the name's Harry, huh?"

"Yeah. Listen, Emma lied to us."

"What?"  
"There were three Red-Hot dealers, not two."

"How do you know?"  
"Emma was protecting the third dealer. It's Courtney Ware."

"That girl that kept coming onto your brother?"

"Yes, that one. But I don't want her to be arrested."

"Oh, you don't want it. I see. Any particular reason, or are you just carting her off with Shawn?"

"No, I want you to make sure she finds a good home and gets some real therapy. Maybe find her a therapist that's not closely related to her stepfather."

"You know what, I'll humour you for a second. Why?"

"She doesn't need to go to jail. I'd love it if you'd arrest her stepfather, though, please. He recently discovered how much fun it is to force her to use Red-Hot before he molests her."

"Shi-i-it. Where is she now?"

"Sleeping with her head in my wife's lap. She wore herself out crying. We'll keep her here with us tonight, but we're leaving tomorrow."

"Right. Okay. I'll take care of it."

"I know. You're a good cop, Chris, but you're a better person. Peter's lucky to have you?"

"How did you . . .?"

"I'm not stupid, that's how. You'll pick her up in the morning?"

"Yeah, sure."

"Okay, see you then. Thank you."

"What can I say? The kids are growing on me."


	29. Epilogue: Christmas at Number Twelve

_Okay, okay, so she was pregnant! You're all very smart, have a cookie. And with a nod to Rowling canon in the form of the baby's name, I present the . . ._

Epilogue

Christmas at Number Twelve

"Dad?"

"What is it, Crash?"

"Can I use the fire?"

"What?" Harry asked with a frown, turning to face his son.

"I want to call Cristina and tell her Happy Christmas."

"Cristina Rosado?"

"Yeah. But she's still not my girlfriend," the boy added hastily. "She's crazy. I just want her to have a good Christmas, that's all."

Harry bit his tongue, hard, trying not to laugh his head off. "I'm sorry, Crash, but we don't want her to know about magic, remember? Her fireplace doesn't work like that."

"But you let her dad know about magic," he objected, wrinkling his nose.

"Hank is an adult, and he's a valuable ally for us. Cristina's too young."

Crash pouted for a moment, but he was distracted by the cries for attention from his sister and cousins, and ran off to join them in their play. Harry's attention was taken up by his wife, who pressed a glass of wine into his hand and smiled up at him.

"Aren't you glad we're through having kids?"

Harry glanced over to where Draco and Vianne sat cuddled up together on his drawing room couch, the baby fussing in Vianne's arms. The two of them looked exhausted, huge dark circles under their eyes.

"Yeah, I think I'm too old to stay up all night anymore."

Draco caught that and looked up at him, making a face. The grimace caused the scars stretching over his skin to crinkle, and the effect was rather awful. The baby suddenly stopped whimpering and made a soft cooing sound, reaching up for Draco's face with one chubby little fist.

Vianne rolled her eyes dramatically and passed the baby into Draco's arms. "Well, at least he knows who his father is."

"That's right," Draco said, sticking out his tongue at Vianne, then looking down at his son with such radiant joy that the scars seemed to disappear. "Shush, Scorpius, Daddy's here."

Hermione sidled up next to Harry, and murmured, "Where did they come up with that name, again?"

Harry grinned. "Vianne insisted that they use one of the old Malfoy family names."

Vianne shrugged helplessly, a youthful grin on her face. "Scorpius is much better than Abraxas, don't you think?"

Draco pointedly ignored the lot of them, all his attention caught up with his child, who was busily trying to catch hold of his daddy's eyepatch and pull it off.

"Harry, isn't Hagrid coming for dinner?" Hermione asked.

"Oh, didn't I tell you?" Harry said with surprise. Ginny rolled her eyes and shook her head, but he just elbowed her in the side playfully. "I meant to."

"What?"

"He's not going to be here. He decided to take Shawn on a trip to the mountains to visit Grawp."

"Shawn? So they're getting along, then?"

Harry smiled. "Shawn's been a huge fan of Hagrid's ever since he found out that he was expelled from Hogwarts. I think he's just finding kinship, since he won't be getting a degree, either."

"But he's okay with sitting in on all the classes, even though he won't be testing for his NEWTs?"

"He really loves to learn," Harry shrugged. "He's the one who asked if he could take the classes. But he's not all that ambitious. He kind of thinks of himself as Hagrid's apprentice. Hagrid's thrilled about having someone who appreciates magical creatures as much as he does."

"But I thought Shawn was a real Potions genius?"

"I think he wants to use those skills just to work with the animals—you know, create a better bite solve, that kind of thing. It's gotten him some friends here, though. He's moved into the room that the Wraven brothers share with Apollo Sorenson. He and Niles are always talking about some kind of Potions theory or another, or so Draco tells me."

"They told me just before the holiday that they want to start working on something new when they get back to school," Draco spoke up, looking amused. "They're going to come up with a Potion that will remove scars. They thought I'd be excited about that, for some reason."

Harry just grinned. "Well, if they come up with something, let me know. But I'd appreciate it if _you'd_ test it out before I go slathering student experiments on my forehead."

"So, Shawn is starting to establish some moral boundaries, then?" Hermione questioned.

"Yes, he really is," Draco said with a nod, absentmindedly sticking a finger into Scorpius' mouth. "I expect Matt has something to do—ouch!" he said, glaring at his wife, who'd just pinched him.

"Don't stick your dirty fingers in his mouth," she said primly.

"Anyway," Draco said, sighing heavily and looking aggrieved, "Matt's been reaching out to him. That's sort of his thing."

"But . . ." Hermione said slowly, looking at Draco with a frown. "What's the problem?"

Draco shrugged, looking sad. "He's still trying to kill himself."

"What? What do you mean, still?"

"He's tried something three different times, since we brought him here."

"I thought he was making friends?"

"He is. I don't know, I think he just hasn't adjusted yet. Annie's death was really hard on him, and then we moved him halfway across the world, into an entirely different culture. I think he just needs some time, that's all."

Hermione pressed her lips together and looked doubtful.

"How are your talks going with Peter, anyway?" Harry asked, changing the subject.

Hermione brightened up. "I think we could really make a difference," she said in an enthusiastic tone. "He's already started introducing me to some of the heads of state. I'm just paving the way and getting some trust built up between us. I have some ideas for the education system that could—"

"Oh, no, you've gotten her started, haven't you?" Jonah said, coming up behind Hermione with a sound of mock dismay, slipping his arms around her waist. "I hope you're ready for a speech." He kissed her cheek chastely, but she turned around in his arms.

"Oh, stop it," she said lightly, and kissed him.

Ginny was smiling at them, Harry saw, but he wasn't. He never would have picked Jonah for Hermione, and he honestly didn't see whatever it was that she saw in him. He'd always been as warm and civil toward Jonah as he could be, for the sake of the woman he held so dear, but he was honestly glad that they lived so far away. Jonah was just so _boring_.

"She's all set to jump into U.S. politics now," Jonah said to Harry, still holding Hermione. "While our government is still telling her every day that they'd be lost without her. Did she tell you that she got the werewolf rights bill expanded to cover vampires, now?"

"I don't do all that much," Hermione protested. She shot a look over to Ginny. "Besides, Ginny's the one who's always helping me look up ancient and archaic laws to put together my proposals."

Ginny blushed, and Harry smiled at her. His wife was much more brilliant than she liked to appear to be.

"Peter says he's still talking to that boy you were telling me about, Edward, the insatiably curious one. He keeps writing Peter to ask him questions about American wizards. Anyway, he says Merry Christmas and thanks that he's not paralyzed. Did Peter get the message right?" Hermione wondered.

Harry smiled. "Yeah, he did. I'm glad Edward's all right." He shook his head, chuckling. "Poor Peter."

Remus and Tonks, who'd been talking with Jonah in the other room until Jonah came looking for Hermione, ambled in to join them, looking thoroughly snogged. Harry wiggled his eyebrows at Remus, who just gave him a superior look and squeezed his wife's hand.

Matt and Ran appeared from the kitchen, looking excited.

"Mum, your spell went off," Matt said. "I think everything's ready."

"Great, dinner," Harry said with delight. "I'm starved. Hey!" he protested, when Ginny dug her elbow into his ribs.

"If you were so starving, you could have helped cook," she said archly.

Harry shrugged. "Only if you wanted to be eating out somewhere after I'd made a mess of a perfectly good meal." Then he raised his eyebrows. "Say, that's a good idea, we could have been eating two hours ago, and I wouldn't have to do any dishes later."

Ginny swatted his backside as he ducked into kitchen ahead of her to grab up a few serving dishes to take to the table.

"Ouch! You hit hard! That's it, no more Quidditch games for you!"

"And let the broom you got me for Christmas sit in the corner and collect dust?" Ginny asked. "You just don't want the competition."

"Well, if you're not going to be using that beautiful broom . . ." Draco called out.

"When do I get a broom?" Crash whined, coming into the conversation at just the wrong moment.

"When you're older," Harry, Ginny, Matt, Draco, and Hermione all said at once.

"Besides, isn't a girlfriend better?" Charley added tauntingly.

"She's _not_ my girlfriend!"

* * *

_Thank you, thank you, thank you, to everyone who has been reading my stuff! Most especially to my wonderful reviewers, who tell me what I'm doing wrong, but also to all the lurkers who are just reading. I have no more full-length stories planned for the "Redemption" series, only a couple of short pieces that I will probably write and post sometime in the next few weeks (before the Christmas holiday). One is going to be about Maggie Weasley, and it should be good!_


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